


United Front

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Druids, Established Relationship, Gen, Multi, Phil Coulson's family - Freeform, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Phil Coulson, Secret Marriage, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 104,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: Committed triad Clint, Natasha and Phil choose to join Catriona in Ireland to celebrate the Druidic ritual of Yule, before all four travel to Phil's family home to spend Christmas at the Inn.  (Takes place in December 2011.)





	1. Chapter 1

“I thought you said that you were going to get out of Christmas with the family for the next ten years, when I let you go last year?” Director Fury asked, tilting his chair back to look at Agent Phil Coulson.

Phil didn’t smile – that would have alarmed the director – but he did allow one corner of his lip to twitch. “Turns out I’ll put up with a lot of harassment to have two weeks of Mom’s cooking.”

Fury made a noise that might have been a laugh and tossed the sheaf of papers he was holding onto his desk. “And you want to take Barton and Romanoff again this year? What, they didn’t scare the locals enough?”

“My mother is exceedingly fond of Barton… and my nieces want to be Agent Romanoff when they grow up.” This time, Phil had to work harder to keep an affectionate smile from his face – he loved watching his spouses interact with his family. “Besides, if I take them with me, I know they aren’t off committing felonies somewhere else.”

“Point.” Fury was regarding him closely, uncovered eye latched on his own. “And the witch?”

“Lady O’Clare has an open invitation from my parents – I haven’t confirmed with her whether she intends to spend Christmas at the Inn or not.” All true – but not the entire truth. He did know Catriona’s plans – just not from her own mouth. She’d passed on through Gaia that, if the Coulsons were willing to host her again, she’d very much like to join their Yule festivities.

Fury grunted his acknowledgment that he’d heard Phil but didn’t remark further on Catriona. Phil was glad of it – the director’s dislike of the druid was one of the major reasons that their working relationship had soured. “I’ll approve it.” He scribbled his signatures across all three sets of paperwork before handing them back to Phil. He didn’t say what he was thinking – that he was afraid if he denied any of them leave, he’d have three resignation letters on his desk. Fury wasn’t comfortable with the intense loyalty the three had for each other, but he couldn’t argue that it got results.

“Thank you, Director,” Phil said, taking the papers back. The leave was for two weeks, plus a weekend – beginning Saturday, December 17 and ending on Sunday, January 1. They’d be back to work on January 2, and Phil fully intended to enjoy that time.

“Just keep them out of trouble,” Fury answered with a tired wave. “I’ve got enough on my plate without having to go to bat with FBI or local LEOs about my best agents.”

“Yes, sir.” Phil exited the office, headed towards his own – one floor down and a hallway over – before Fury could think to add any travel restrictions – like not leaving the country.

Phil hadn’t been entirely honest about their travel plans. Yes, they were going to spend Christmas at the Inn with his parents, but they were also going to spend Yule with Catriona in Ireland. It had been Clint’s idea, initially. All three of them wanted to learn more about Druidic practices and traditions, but more – they wanted to support Catriona. Each ritual she attended left her physically exhausted and emotionally bereft, and there was very little that Clint – or Natasha, or Phil – wouldn’t do to ease that.

He returned to his office, tapping out text messages to both his spouses that their leave had been approved. Unlike last year, he hadn’t waited until the last minute – their leave wouldn’t begin until the end of the week. Four and a half workdays wasn’t much notice to give the Director, it was true – but if they gave him much more than that, he’d find ways to work them to the bone before their leave began.

Phil settled at his desk to compose an email to Catriona informing her of their plans. He wasn’t sure how he’d wound up being the one doing this – it would have made more sense for Natasha or Clint to contact her through Gaia, in his opinion. But both husband and wife had given him a combination of pleading and ordering glances, and he’d given in. It wasn’t worth fighting over.

_Dear Catriona,_

_Your warriors tag-teamed me until I had to be the one to write this email. It’s entirely unfair when they use Gaia’s gifts against me, you know. Don’t worry – it isn’t bad. Or at least, isn’t intended to be bad? Clint suggested, Natasha seconded, and I made the vote unanimous – we would like to join you at the Sacred Grove for the Yule ceremony. Before you protest, yes – we will still go to my parents’ house for Christmas. I called in a favor with Tony Stark, and have one of his prototype jets for us to use to make the best time possible on our way to Ireland and then back._

_Nat, Clint and I are off work as of close of business this Friday. You are welcome at the house any time between now and whenever we need to leave for Yule. If you’d rather meet us there, send Clint coordinates and he’ll pilot us there._

_I hope we aren’t being too ham-handed about this. From your perspective, it probably looks like we’re inviting ourselves just for the hell of it, but that is not the reason. Little one, it kills us to see you so heartbroken after each ritual. We love you as a sister, and to be unable to shield you from this emotional pain is untenable. You have my word that we will not interfere in the ritual in any way – but we will do everything in our power to support you through it._

_Forgive us our overprotective zeal, and let us give freely to you the loving aid you so often give us._

_All our love,_   
_Treorai (Boghdoir, and M’inion, in absentia)_

Phil hit send and forwarded a copy to both Nat and Clint before returning to his official duties. There was no telling how long it would take Catriona to read the email – she wasn’t really the most technological being on the planet. She’d been persuaded to accept a cell phone, and Clint had pestered her until she’d agreed to a smart phone with email and internet capabilities. Phil had been impressed by his persuasiveness – he’d promised she’d get more photos of Cooper and Lila, as well as pictures of himself and his spouses if she had the ability to get photo messages. As his sister-in-law Laura said, never underestimate the appeal of Baby Bartons.

He had paperwork spread across his desk in a haphazard chaos – surveillance photos, blueprints, reports – as he tried to plan an op. He was deep into it – deep enough that he didn’t hear the first knock on his door. It was the clearing of a throat that made him look up. “Agent Romanoff. Come in.” Phil didn’t bother to put the intel away – it was a mission she’d likely wind up going on anyway.

Natasha closed the office door behind her, debating locking the deadbolt. It appeared she’d decided it was necessary because she flicked it locked before crossing the office to him. Still wordless, she perched on the edge of his desk, pressing her thigh against the elbow he had resting on the desk’s surface.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, feeling a small tremor in her thigh. He shifted both of them until she was sitting directly in front of him, knees on either side. For most people, it would have been a suggestive pose – for them, it was an affirmation of trust. Natasha could – and did – kill with her thighs. The position left her torso unprotected from attack, something she did very rarely. Even now, she hunched over slightly, defensively, and wrapped her arms around Phil’s neck. Still she didn’t speak, and Phil was beginning to worry. He hadn’t seen her this quiet since – oh. “This a Yule psychic mood swing?” he asked gently. She nodded, and he saw the faintest glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Oh, dearest.” He stood, wrapping his arms around her and carrying her easily to the couch. She clung to him, burrowing her face into his shoulder. He sat down in the corner of the couch, legs extended along its length, and maneuvered her until she was lying between them, her head on his chest. He ran soothing hands up and down her back, kissing the top of her head gently.

He never understood why she sought him out in these moments, and not Clint. He’d have been able to reach into her mind and see what was bothering her – Phil had to wait until she was willing to speak. He was glad that she’d turned the deadbolt, because it took nearly a half hour before she could speak – and she’d have been mortified if someone had walked in.

When she spoke, her voice was low, pinched. “I hate being this sensitive.”

Phil kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, love. I wish I could fix it.”

Anger flashed in her eyes, but died out as suddenly as it had come. “I know.”

“What was the mad for, love?”

“That I need fixing.” She sat up enough that she could make eye contact. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. Just… Goddess, everything is so sharp right now.” Phil wisely didn’t speak this time, just pressed another kiss to her temple, followed by one on her lips. She leaned into him, and he could feel her fighting an internal battle not to deepen the kiss. “I should get back to the Scoobies,” she said in a low voice, nuzzling behind his ear.

“Try not to break them,” he cautioned, but was careful to let her see he was teasing. “Fury won’t give me any more.”

She managed a chuckle and slid off of him, pausing for one more long kiss before disappearing out of his office and leaving him in a state of bemused arousal.

He returned to his desk and stacks of paperwork, but was distracted a short time later by the ping of a new email. Smiling, he opened it.

_Dearest Treorai,_

_If you believe you need it, I shall grant you forgiveness – but I do not feel it necessary. Your offer surprised me, but it is a pleasant revelation rather than a negative one. I would be delighted to have you join me for the Yule service, and to accompany you back to your family. Gaia has oft encouraged we druids to invite our Warriors, but I had not thought you would be willing to sacrifice a portion of your family time to travel to Ireland. I am delighted to be wrong in this instance._

_Much as I would like to join you immediately, I have some tasks which must be completed prior to the ceremony. It would be best if you could join me here in my vale – I shall send Clint the coordinates – when your leave begins. I am not certain how long the flight will be in this craft you’ve secured, but if you were to arrive sometimes Saturday, it would be most agreeable. The ceremony itself is on Wednesday, which would give me several days to introduce you to the other Druids, any Warriors who join us, and make ready what I must for the ritual. Of course, if you would rather wait until closer to the ritual, I entirely understand – please let me know when you expect to arrive, as I wish to be prepared._

_Give my love to Boghdoir and M’inion, and pass it on to the rest of the teaglach as well._

_With deepest reverence,_   
_Catriona_

~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

“I kind of can’t believe she isn’t mad,” Clint admitted when he finished reading Catriona’s email over Natasha’s shoulder. “I mean, we did kind of bull our way into it.”

Natasha closed her eyes briefly, stomping on her instinctual reaction – to lash out in violence – and took a deep breath before answering. “She’s never upset to spend time with us.”

Clint blinked and looked at his wife more closely, noticing the strain around her eyes and the tight control she had on her mind. “Hell, I’m sorry Sunshine,” he apologized immediately, and backed far enough away that he was no longer crowding her. “You can tell me when you need me to back off.”

Her hand reached out for his before he could get too far away. “I don’t need you to back off,” she admitted in a soft tone. “I mean, my surface reaction is to want you to but… I’m better with you close.” She pulled gently on his hand until he snuggled up against her, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his face against her neck.

“I can do close,” he murmured. “I can do whatever you need, Sunshine.” He stroked her hair, pressing soft kisses into her neck. 

She tried to protest – they were alone in the locker room, but there wasn’t a locking door on the room, and anyone could come in – but she needed this too much… and that pissed her off.

When she tensed again, he released his hold and stepped back, though he kept her hand clasped in his. “What can I do?” Clint felt helpless – his own solstice symptoms were markedly different, and despite having gone through this with Natasha a year ago, it didn’t feel like he knew anything more useful this time than last time.

“I have no idea,” Natasha sighed. She rubbed her forehead, sinking down onto the locker room bench. “I thought it would be easier, knowing what’s going on – that it’s Goddess-driven – but I still feel out of control.”

“Headache?” he asked gently.

“It’ll pass.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes, grunting. “Like a kidney stone, but it’ll pass.”

“Um.” There was a voice from the door and both looked up – Clint with the wariness of a trained fighter, Natasha with the reluctance of someone who didn’t want to open her eyes – to find Misty standing there, a Ziploc of teabags in her hand. “It’s probably presumptuous of me, but… you look like you have a headache and…” she thrust the Ziploc towards Natasha. “I kind of keep a stash nearby.”

Rather than the irritation she expected, Natasha was swamped with an embarrassingly strong wave of affection – love, she admitted to herself, even if it was clan-love and not romantic-love. “Not presumptuous,” Natasha said, managing a smile. “Prescient, maybe. I’ll take you up on that, because I feel like hell.”

Misty entered then, handing the bag to Clint. They exchanged brief hand-signals before Clint disappeared to rustle up a cup and hot water. “So… I know this whole psychic mood swing thing isn’t new to you, but the Scoobies and I didn’t see it last year, so we don’t really know how to help. And when I asked Sensei and Cuz, they both looked at me like I’d grown another head so, I’m asking you.” Misty sat down next to Natasha and put a hand on the older agent’s knee. “We don’t want to crowd you, but we don’t want to make you feel isolated either. From what Lance tells me, Clint needed physical contact and a lot of reassurance. I don’t know if that’s what you need, but if it is… we’re in.”

Another wave of emotion crashed over Natasha and she had to close her eyes again to avoid bursting into tears. “Thanks.” She put her own hand over Misty’s and just held it while her emotions stabilized. “Contact seems to help. I’m not really one for verbal reassurances but…” she shrugged. “It can’t hurt, right?”

“Not unless I piss you off and you slug me for it, in which case it would hurt like hell,” Misty said promptly, startling a laugh out of Natasha. “There, that’s better.” Misty edged a little closer until their sides were touching. “You get your leave approved?”

“Yeah. We’re off after shift on Friday.”

“Good.” Misty squeezed Natasha’s knee. “You going to let us try to help until then?”

Natasha nodded, twining her fingers with Misty’s. “Don’t know how I could stop you, grasshopper. You’re damned persistent.”

“Learned from the best.”

Clint returned bearing a steaming mug which he handed to Natasha. He didn’t look surprised to see her holding hands with Misty, just sat down on her other side and put an arm around her waist. “Scoobies are guarding the locker room,” he told Natasha as she sipped at the tea. “If anyone else heads for this door, Chuckles will do that horse whistle of his. Plenty of warning.”

“Goddess, I don’t know what I did to deserve all of you, but I’m devoutly grateful for it,” Natasha whispered.

Misty leaned into her affectionately. “Drink your tea, nascha. When the headache dies down, you can come trample over us in the ring.” She released Natasha’s knee and stood up, stretching, and flashing another hand signal to Clint.

“I really wish they wouldn’t do that,” Natasha said, half in protest and half in amusement.

“Our fault for teaching them,” Clint grinned. “It wasn’t bad, she was just making sure I was good with her going back to the ring.”

Natasha leaned her head on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to babysit me.”

“Sunshine.” His tone was so serious that she lifted her head to make eye contact, surprised at his steady gaze. “Nothing that I do for you is ever because I have to. It’s because I love you, more than I ever thought possible, and anything I can do to show you that is an honor and a privilege.” He clasped her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. 

“Hopeless romantic,” she teased automatically, but her heart was squeezed by his forthright declaration. They didn’t say the words aloud often, when it was just the two of them – there was no need, with the telepathy. Somehow, though, hearing him say it for her ears alone was… moving. “I love you too,” she murmured, leaning forward so that he could hear her.

He squeezed her hand, kissed it one more time, and stood. “Finish your tea, so we can go beat the snot out of Misty. She’s getting awfully big for her britches.”

Natasha snorted, but obeyed.

~ * ~

As far as Clint was concerned, the next few days were a special kind of hell.

His gratitude towards his spouses and the Scoobies skyrocketed with each of Natasha’s mood swings – because if he’d been half as much work during the worst of his Litha symptoms, then they were all approaching Sainthood.

The worst of it was that Natasha was absolutely terrible about telling people she needed help, and she’d locked her mind down tightly enough – to protect him, she said – that he didn’t always realize what was going through her mind until she was already solidly in the midst of whatever emotional swell was swamping her at the moment. Phil was better at guessing what she needed, and that was unexpectedly irritating. Sure, their husband was one of the most observant people on the planet, but Clint had a direct conduit into Natasha’s brain – shouldn’t he be the one figuring this out? The one she sought out when she needed something but couldn’t ask?

He'd long ago come to terms with the fact that Phil was a better man than he was, but it kind of stung to see him being a better husband.

Rather than inflict his mood on anyone else, Clint took to the range. He set up a ridiculously difficult target series – stretching even his Gaia-augmented abilities – and let his focus narrow to his weapon, his target, and his body. He’d completed two cycles of targets when a throat clearing drew his attention back. Turning, he saw Maria leaning up against one of the stall dividers.

“This is becoming a habit,” he said, as lightly as he could manage. “I flee to the range, you come to chastise me for scaring off other agents.”

Maria pushed off the divider and approached him, her eyes fixed on his. “Not here to chastise you, Barton,” she corrected. She held out her hand expectantly, and he set his bow in it reluctantly. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not here,” he said immediately.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. Didn’t answer my question.”

He tilted his head to one side, regarding her thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Maria turned, bow in hand, and moved to one of the tables in the back of the range that held his case and maintenance tools. “Alright. Mexican?” She began putting the bow and his gear in order – and he didn’t realize she’d watched him closely enough to exactly mirror his routine.

“Yeah.” He stepped up next to her, helping where he could but mostly just watching as she polished, oiled, and tucked away his weapon. Somehow, seeing her do it didn’t trigger the overwhelming possessiveness that he’d expected. Maybe it was because she was a friend… maybe because he considered her part of his teaglach – family.

Finished, Maria turned back to him and gestured. “Same crap place?” she asked, a flicker of humor in her eyes.

“Crap decor, superior food,” Clint corrected. “Yeah. If that’s okay?”

“You’re rarely wrong about food, Barton.” She clapped him on the shoulder and let him lead her to the garage.

Once they were seated at one of the rickety, tacky tables and the waitress had taken their orders, Maria tapped the table in front of Clint to draw his attention. “So. You fighting with the mister and the missus?”

He snorted. “No.”

“So… why did you need to fire a hundred plus arrows in the middle of a training session?” He gave her a sharp look. “Yeah, I counted. And I know you were supposed to be on the obstacle course with the Scooby Squad, so… what’s up?”

Clint debated. He didn’t know the rules here. Could you talk about spousal jealousy to an outsider? But she’d asked, so… “When Nat has a Yule meltdown, she goes to Phil.”

Maria nodded slowly. “And you think she should go to you? Or at least some of the time?” Clint nodded. “You’re an idiot,” she said, though not without affection.

“What? Why?” He looked at her with wide eyes, the beginning of hurt forming.

“She goes to him because he can’t read her mind,” Maria explained patiently. “She doesn’t have to worry about her psychic mood swing setting off one in Phil. She does worry about that with you – and yeah, I know this for sure. She’s come to me a few times when Phil wasn’t available.”

Clint leaned back against the booth. “Set me off?”

“In case you don’t remember, your solstice symptoms were pretty damned dramatic,” Maria drawled. “You laughed hysterically in one of the intel rooms and babbled about temporal rifts. Scared two of your Scoobies half out of their wits – and given one of them was Lancelock, that’s a lot of wits.”

Oh. Right. “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t help – ”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Maria agreed. “And our perfectly poised, tactical thinking Agent Romanoff knows that.” She waited a beat. “I don’t think Natasha remembers, when she’s having a freak out of her own.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Clint grumbled, but his tone was more grateful than disgruntled. “So I shouldn’t feel like Phil’s a better husband than I am?”

It startled a laugh out of Maria. “No, I don’t think so. From what I see, it looks pretty neck-and-neck. She’s just trying to protect you.”

“I suppose there’s no sense in trying to tell her I don’t need protection?”

“Clint.” The humor left her face, and she leaned forward to cover his hand with her own. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the fact that you spent several hours in the range and then agreed to talk to me about your personal life in the middle of the day kind of indicates that you aren’t as unaffected by this solstice as you think you are.” She squeezed his hand before letting go, picking up her water glass. “You’re a hell of an agent, Barton, and I’ve no doubt you could put all of this to the side if we needed you on a mission but…” she gestured with the glass at his nervously tapping fingers. “… you aren’t normal right now. Not even as normal as you ever get.”

He sighed. They were quiet as their food was delivered, and Clint began working through the massive plates of food without speaking again. Maria was just finishing her own when he spoke again. “Thanks, Ria.” Then he flinched. “Sorry. That was a mental nickname not meant to come out my mouth.”

“I kind of like it.” She smiled at him. “Just in the clan though, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Okay. Natasha’s trying to keep her psychic swings from knocking into mine, which is supposed to be thoughtful, and I’m going to have to pay attention to my own keel to keep from tilting over too.”

“That’s how I read it,” Maria agreed. She paid the lunch ticket, waving off his protest, and rose to head back to SHIELD. “Let’s go work off some of that food by kicking Scooby ass.”

~ * ~


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha was relieved to be alone in the house Friday afternoon. She’d escaped SHIELD early – the benefit of having written her reports last night, when she couldn’t sleep – and wanted a few hours to herself to try and regain her balance.

She also needed time to think about what she wanted to give her husbands for Christmas. She’d avoided thinking about it for as long as she could, but couldn’t for much longer. Last year, they’d exchanged rings and vows – and despite it not being a legally recognized marriage, it was one to her and she wanted to find a way to commemorate it as well as celebrate the Yule holiday.

Unfortunately, what she most desperately wanted to give her husbands was not something that could happen yet.

Natasha wasn’t sure when the vague idea of, at some point in the distant future, becoming a parent had become such a deep-rooted desire. She’d never considered herself maternal, and even though she’d enjoyed Cooper and Lila as babies, hadn’t regretted her infertility… until Clint and Phil, and her miraculous achroi ghra bond. Now… she wanted that gift, that miracle – wanted to give it to her husbands, to share it – 

But not yet. She knew it wasn’t time. None of them were ready to walk away from SHIELD – and she’d made up her mind that they would not get pregnant until they could be open about their relationship and her pregnancy. She had no desire to spend nine months confined to SHIELD headquarters being interrogated about the restoration of her reproductive abilities or the father of her child. That didn’t make the ache go away.

Not being able to give them that left her… rather at loose ends. The internet had not been much help. According to numerous articles she’d read, men were notoriously difficult to shop for, and nothing suggested on those lists had seemed likely to appeal to her husbands. Out of options, she reached into a pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed the number from memory and waited until the call connected.

“Well, good evening Natasha!” Diane’s cheerful voice made her smile, even across time zones. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a wife question, and the internet isn’t useful,” Natasha admitted. To her surprise, in the year since they’d met, she’d found herself growing closer to Phil’s mother – even though they did not manage to visit often, they spoke frequently on the phone and Natasha trusted her much as she did Catriona. “I can’t… give Phil and Clint what I’d like to, for our anniversary and Christmas… and I don’t have any other ideas. Research isn’t helping.”

“Ah, dearie.” She heard Diane turning off the water – it sounded like she’d been washing dishes. “You wouldn’t have been thinking of grandchildren, were you?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered, very softly. “It… isn’t time, yet.”

“I’m sure they know that, sweetheart. They aren’t going to be disappointed about it.” There was more noise on the other end of the phone, and Natasha heard Diane shushing someone in the room. “Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to rid myself of curious ears.”

“It’s… okay, if other people want to help.” Natasha fidgeted, not sure who else was in the room. “Unless it’s Megan.”

Diane laughed. “No, I wouldn’t pass on advice from her about that. Sarah, Iris and the girls were helping me put up bread for tomorrow. I would think, between the six of us, we should be able to come up with something for you to give your loves, right?”

“That would be awesome.” She didn’t bother to disguise her tired sigh. “Everything I’ve thought of was either too cheesy or too… impersonal.”

“Wine?” Iris suggested. Diane had switched the phone to speaker, so Natasha could hear all of them. The homey noises settled her more than she’d realized she needed.

Sarah made a noise of disagreement. “Phil likes wine, but Clint’s a beer guy. Nat, were you wanting to get them a joint gift, or something for each of them?”

“I hadn’t really decided.” Natasha tucked herself into the corner of the couch, wishing briefly that Phil was there to lean against.

“If you go separate… Phil still needs those last two Cap cards,” Diane reminded her. “I don’t know if that’s in your price range, but finding one of them would definitely make his Christmas.”

Natasha chuckled. “Already had that thought, and have nibbles out to a few collectors. If I manage to get hold of one of them… yeah, that would work.”

“So is Uncle Clint just really hard to shop for?” Rose asked. “He doesn’t seem like he would be.”

“It’s just… he’s… romantic. I know how to buy him things that will make him laugh… I don’t know how to buy him things that would make his eyes go all soft.”

“Oh.” The girl was silent for a moment, thinking. “Maybe it could be something of both? Like, something fun but with kind of a sappy part?”

Intrigued, Natasha pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Like what?”

“Well.” It was fascinating to hear the girl try to slow her thoughts enough to put them into words. “He likes games and playing like he’s a kid, right? What if you got him a toy or a game or something that he’ll enjoy now, but also give him like the junior version for when you guys do have a baby. Like… here’s a toy, and here’s for you to play with our future baby. It won’t be, like, practical, because anything you give him would be like for an older kid but it would be… what’s the word… symbolic.”

For a moment, Natasha couldn’t speak. When her voice did come, it was choked with emotion. “Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

“Papa says I’ve got an old soul, and Aunt Catriona says we’ve got the Sight,” Rose said equably. “Does that mean it’s a good idea?”

“It’s a fantastic idea, Rosie Posey. It’s… it’s better than awesome.”

“Well, good. I guess I’ll let you get away with calling me that, then.” 

Natasha couldn’t help but grin – she sounded just like Phil. “Lily-lass, you there too?”

“Yes, Auntie Nat. Didn’t want to interrupt Rose.”

“Do you have any suggestions for Aunt Catriona? We wanted to give her a gift, but… what do you buy a twenty-three-hundred-year-old druid who doesn’t like clothes or jewelry?”

Lily giggled. “That easy, Auntie Nat. You don’t buy her anything. You make her something.”

“Like…”

“I knitted her a scarf,” Lily said proudly. “Rose made a matching hat. See, Aunt Catriona doesn’t think about things in terms of money – I mean, she forgot all that fancy jewelry here and didn’t even think about how much it was worth. She thinks about the time and effort that goes into something. That’s why she thinks Grandma’s pies are worth more than her crown thingy. So… make something. It doesn’t have to be awesome or perfect, but it should be something you really thought about, and made just for her.”

“Do you think…” Natasha trailed off, mustered her courage, and continued. “Do you think she’d like a scrapbook? Like, a photo album? With pictures of all of us and the kids and everything?”

“That’s a fine idea,” Diane commended. “And if you need pictures from us, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Natasha didn’t tell her that it was faster to hack the photos she wanted than to ask. “Thanks, but I think I’m good.” The tension had eased in her shoulders. “You guys are life savers. Really.”

“That’s what family is for,” Diane reminded her gently. “Now, run along and get started on your project – you’re running short on time! We look forward to seeing you on Thursday, sweetheart. Give my love to Phil and Clint, and keep some for yourself.”

“Yes ma’am.” She was smiling as she said it, and ended the call in a much calmer state than she’d begun it. Pulling her tablet to her, she began calling in favors to locate two rare trading cards, pick out a suitable toy, and select the photos she wanted to print.

~ * ~

Phil watched from the doorway as Clint ran the Scoobies through a new hand-to-hand drill. It wasn’t a particularly challenging one – they tended to leave those for Natasha – but it required attention to detail.

Clint fumbled it four times in ten minutes.

Unable to bear it any longer, Phil strode forward, catching the attention of Misty who immediately called the practice to a halt. “I beg your pardon, Agent Summers, but I require Agent Barton at this time,” Phil said formally, gesturing to Clint. “May I suggest that you switch to the high-low quarterstaff drill in the mean-time? If you are having difficulties with it, Agent Hill is available to assist you.”

“Aye, sir,” Misty agreed immediately, saluting him. “Will we see you again before your leave begins, sir?”

Phil paused in his turn to the door. “If the teaglach would like to have supper at the dojo, they would be welcome.”

Misty grinned. “I’ll pass the word on.”

They were two steps out of the door when Clint seized Phil’s elbow in a grip tight enough to be painful. “Did you just invite the whole clan over for dinner?”

“I did,” Phil answered calmly. His eyes slid sideways to regard his husband. “She’s right, otherwise we won’t see them until we get home on the first, and that’s a long time to go without – teaglach.” At the last moment he substituted the Gaelic word for the phrase which first popped into his head – ‘our family.’ They weren’t yet in his office, and he didn’t particularly want other agents to hear him refer to Clint – or the Scoobies – as family.

Even if they were.

He opened the door to his office and gestured for Clint to enter first, closing and locking the door behind him. Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell?”

Phil moved to his electric kettle and set water boiling, preparing two mugs – one of Serenitea for Clint, the other of Catriona’s headache remedy for himself. “Maybe I needed my husband,” he said quietly.

Clint’s irritation dissolved and he stepped to Phil, raising one hand to cup his cheek. “Yeah, I can see that – but that’s not all of it, is it?”

“Damned sharpshooter,” Phil grumbled with no malice. “No, it’s not. It was… you’re not…” he paused, a rare moment of speechlessness.

“I’m not at my best, and you don’t like to see it,” Clint supplied for him, smoothing his thumb over Phil’s cheek. “And if you can’t fix it, at least you want me where you can keep an eye on me, and know I’m not embarrassing myself.”

Phil leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “Reading my mind, pretty bird?”

“Don’t need to. I think the same things about you and Nat.” Clint slid his hand down Phil’s neck, cupping the back of it and pulling him into an embrace. “I love you, too.”

“Why is it harder, this year?” Phil asked into Clint’s hair. “It should be easier.”

“I don’t know, Moonbeam. I’ve asked Mama, and the answer was mystical and mysterious and unhelpful.” He ran a hand up and down Phil’s back, drawing as much comfort from it as he was giving. “For me, it’s the Yule Ceremony.” Phil tensed against him, and Clint shook his head. “No, I want to go. But it’s an unknown, out of my usual territory, and something that I know upsets sis – Catriona. So I’m off kilter because of it, and because Nat is doing her damndest to block me out of her mind so that she doesn’t knock me off balance, and instead being cut off from her is worse.”

Phil pulled away to meet his husband’s eyes, surprise showing on his face. “I didn’t know it was making it harder for you,” he admitted. “We thought – Nat and I both thought it would be easier.”

“It isn’t,” Clint said shortly, then sighed. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just… you know that weird dead feeling when your foot goes to sleep? Right now, that’s how the place in my head where Nat lives feels.”

“Oh.” Phil blinked. “That’s… unpleasant.” He pulled his cell phone out, presumably to text Natasha, and Clint put a restraining hand on him.

“We’ll talk about it later, all three of us – which really, we should have done before anybody did any cutting off,” he said, just a bit of censure in his tone. “Considering that Maria knew about the mental restriction before I did…”

A wince told him Phil hadn’t known that. “You’re right. We should have talked it out as a triad.”

“Nice to know you can make the wrong judgement call now and again, too,” Clint murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Tea. And completely unrelated talk about what I want to do for Nat – and you – for Christmas and our anniversary.”

“You don’t need to do anything for me,” Phil said automatically, pouring hot water into the waiting mugs. He handed Clint his mug, taking a sip of his own before he registered the expression on Clint’s face. “That was the wrong answer, wasn’t it?”

“Very much so,” Clint replied dryly. “You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’m not going to let our first anniversary and our second Christmas go by unmentioned. You can’t tell me you don’t have a plan, too. As a matter of fact, I know you do – I saw the note from Sherrod on your desk. Jewelry, Moonbeam? Rings weren’t enough?”

Phil flushed. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

“I didn’t read it,” Clint reassured. “I just saw his logo. I wouldn’t spoil the surprise.”

“It’s… umm… not just for you and Nat,” Phil admitted. “I… had some things made for the whole clan. That’s why I invited them for dinner tonight, actually. I was going to wait until we got home but…”

“Do you want to tell me?” Clint asked curiously. He sat down on the couch, patting the spot next to him.

“Only to say that you and Nat – and Catriona – won’t get yours tonight, although I do have gifts for you. Just… not tonight.”

Clint grinned. “Alright. Fair enough. That means you’re ahead of me, because I have no idea what to do for either of you. Or sis. Other than to know I want to do something.”

“Pretty bird, Christmas is in nine days – don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?” Phil sat down next to him on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Yup.” Clint’s smile widened. “I do my best thinking under pressure.” Phil groaned and rolled his eyes, which made Clint laugh aloud. “Honestly, I have been thinking about it for a while, but nothing seemed to fit.”

“Did you try asking Laura?”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “How much of an idiot do you really think I am? Of course I did. She informed me that shopping for men is impossible, that I should buy Natasha something silky, and that Catriona needed a teddy bear.”

That made Phil laugh, the image of the druid clutching a bear both charming and absurd. “Catriona would probably enjoy a teddy bear, actually,” he said with a smile. “That won’t do for Nat and I, of course, because we have you.”

“Flatterer.” Clint shifted his mug to his other hand so that he could twine his fingers with Phil’s.

“For you, always, pretty bird.” Phil let himself relax into the couch and his husband’s touch, turning his mind to a gift from Clint to Nat. “Silky, hm? Was Laura suggesting you buy our wife a negligee?”

“Probably, but I was thinking more of pajamas. But then, she loves that set she bought all of us, so… and then I thought maybe knives, but are weapons appropriate gifts for spouses?”

Phil laughed again. “For us, certainly. Catriona too, for that matter. I expect she’d accept one from you where she wouldn’t from anyone else – and it would be a very thoughtful gift. You know our strengths and weaknesses, and it would show that you want us to be able to protect ourselves.” He lifted their hands to his lips and kissed Clint’s fingers gently. “And I doubt you’d find it impossible to shop for me, if you were looking at weapons.”

“True.” Clint relaxed too, mentally sorting out what weapon for who, pleasantly debating blade sizes and pistol calibers in his mind. “Okay. That’s… that’s good.”

“You’d best get going then, lovebird – we leave for Ireland tomorrow,” Phil reminded him with a smile. “If you’re going to buy something here…”

Clint drained his mug of tea and set it on the coffee table before putting his hands on either side of Phil’s head for a long, deep kiss. “Thank you.”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter 4

Despite having sent both his spouses home from work early, Phil arrived home to an empty house. There was a note from Natasha on the counter – she expected to be back by dinner, and yes she knew they were to be invaded by Scoobies. He grinned, touching the hastily drawn heart she’d signed it with, and exchanged his suit coat for his apron. He may not have the time to make a Yule feast, but he was determined to serve a family meal to his clan.

Natasha found him elbow deep in preparations, humming contentedly when she returned. She had several bags from a local craft store, which Phil eyed curiously. “You taking up a hobby, love?” he asked.

“I am,” she said serenely. “After a very illuminating discussion with the flower girls, their mothers, and Diane, it was agreed that making a gift for Catriona would be suitable, and so I am making her a scrapbook.”

Phil tried very hard to keep the skepticism off his face. “Have you scrapbooked before?”

She laughed in unexpectedly delight and dared to cross into the kitchen long enough to plant a kiss solidly on his lips. “Yes, loverling. Laura taught me when Cooper was a baby. She texted me some websites with ideas, and I went to get supplies. I’ll work on it tonight and on the plane, and if it isn’t done before we join Catriona, I’ll finish it at your parents – which is where your gift, and Clint’s, are headed – no sense hauling them to Ireland just to haul them to Wisconsin.” 

Her eyes were dancing and it was enough to make him forget the dinner preparations. Heedless of tomato sauce, he reached for her with both hands, cupping her cheeks and bringing her lips to his with gentle tenderness. “Goddess, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I adore seeing you happy like this, my love.”

Natasha let herself relax into the kiss, her body gravitating towards his without conscious decision – needing to be closer to him, this amazing man who loved her.

Phil regretfully pulled away when a pot of water being bubbling over, turning back to dinner preparations at last. Natasha sat down on one of the kitchen stools, propping her head on her hand to watch him cook.

Less than twenty minutes later, Clint came in whistling a jaunty tone, dropping kisses on them both as he hung up his jacket, slid off his shoes, and deposited keys and creds in their usual places. “What’s for dinner, Moonbeam?”

“Chicken marinara over penne, fresh garlic bread, roasted baby potatoes,” Phil answered automatically, then paused. “Empty hands, pretty bird?”

“Beauty of shipping,” Clint responded with an easy grin. “Had them sent to the Inn.”

Natasha laughed. “I did the same, except for Catriona’s… I’m making her a scrapbook.”

“That’s a hell of a good idea,” Clint complimented her. “You haven’t done much of that since Cooper was little.”

“Making her something was Lily’s idea,” Natasha admitted with a smile. “I might have called for reinforcements.”

Phil laughed. “I had Catriona’s help with my gifts.”

“I talked to Laura… and Phil,” Clint added with another grin. “Apparently it’s an actual family thing. Who knew?” He slid onto the stool next to Natasha. “When are the kids coming?”

“Soon,” Phil said vaguely, glancing at his watch. “Not too soon to have that conversation I promised, pretty bird.”

“That sounds ominous,” Natasha murmured.

“Kind of is, but not, like, big bad ugly. Just little ugly,” Clint reassured her. “Just… you and Phil talked about you blocking me out, and you told Maria, but… you never talked to me about it, and it’s… really uncomfortable. I told Phil it’s like the feeling when your foot is asleep… there’s this blankness in my head where you belong. And I know you are trying to protect me,” Clint added hastily, seeing her eyes fill. “I know it was with good intention. But, like… I’d rather feel you miserable than not feel you at all.”

Natasha let a few tears spill over before she wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, dearling,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she focused on opening their connection – not fully wide, as she truly did not want to overwhelm him, but to a more normal level.

His relief was immediate. Muscles he hadn’t realized were tense relaxed, and he leaned into her shoulder with a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Sunshine. I missed you.”

She turned in to him, kissing him deeply. {I never meant to hurt you.}

{I know that. I do,} he reassured her immediately. {Just… talk to me about it next time, okay?}

“All better?” Phil asked, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Now I can face the horde. Did Phil tell you he got the Scoobies Christmas presents?”

“He did not,” Natasha answered, quirking an eyebrow at their husband.

“As far as the Scoobies are concerned, they’re from all three of us,” Phil added hastily. “And you two won’t get yours tonight – yours and Catriona’s are for Christmas at the Inn.”

“Fair enough.” Clint slid his arm around Natasha’s waist. “You need help in there, Moonbeam, or should I go get changed?”

“Get changed, and then I’m going to turn over noodle stirring to you long enough to do the same.”

“Nonsense,” Natasha waved that away. “I’m capable of minding supper at this stage, loverling – you two can both go change, and I’ll take a turn last… I have a new dress to wear, and I’d like to surprise you.”

Her husbands obeyed with alacrity, which made Natasha grin. They enjoyed her dresses – she didn’t wear them often, and they were light years from anything she wore undercover – for home and her husbands, she tended to pick retro-style cocktail dresses, something that wouldn’t be out of place on a big-band dance floor. She liked the flirty hems, the bold colors – and her husbands appreciated the decolletage.

{Yes, yes we do,} she heard Clint agree, and was surprised at how much she’d missed his casual comments as well. {Well, duh. I’m a brilliant conversationalist and my sarcasm is finely honed. Who wouldn’t miss it?}

{Most sane people,} she answered dryly. {It’s just your luck your achroi ghra aren’t particularly sane.}

Moments later they both clattered down the stairs – Phil had traded his suit for jeans and a button-up shirt in blue, and Clint had gone with slacks and a green shirt. She kissed each of them lightly before dashing up the stairs to put on her own outfit. She’d found a lovely halter-top dress with A-line skirt in a vibrant peacock blue-green taffeta, and slid into it with anticipation. Shoes, jewelry, and a quick check of her makeup and she was ready – though she descended the stairs more gracefully than her husbands.

“Okay… yeah,” Phil breathed, catching sight of her as she came back into the kitchen. “Yeah, I like that.”

She twirled, letting the skirt float up to her waist, letting them get just a glimpse of the garter tops of her silk stockings – complete with seam down the back – before pushing it back down with a flirtatious grin.

“A Marilyn turn, even?” Clint choked out. “Great Good Goddess, Sunshine, you look… incredible.”

Natasha preened a moment longer before settling back onto her stool. “I’m glad you like it.”

The doorbell rang – which told the triad it wasn’t Misty at the door, as she tended to just come in – and Clint rose to answer it. He came back into the kitchen, Lance and Alley Cat trailing behind him.

It was the first time Alley Cat had been to the triad’s home, though he’d been invited many times. He was still distant with them outside of work, and Phil didn’t know how to fix it. He smiled a welcome, though. “Beer? Or wine?” he offered to their guests.

“I’ll get it,” Lance told him, waving Phil back to the stove. “Al, you want something?”

“Uh. Beer, I guess.” 

Lance pulled two bottles out of the fridge, pointing at Clint and Nat in question also. At their refusal, he popped the tops off and handed one to Al. “Don’t worry, the beer’s always good here. So’s the food.”

“Thanks, Lance,” Phil said, ruffling the sharpshooter’s hair as he walked by.

“Hey, watch the curls… I got a date later!” Lance protested with a laugh, ducking.

Clint’s eyes were not on his husband’s antics, but on Alley Cat – Al. Their language specialist had an unreadable expression on his face, beer held protectively in front of him. Still not sure of them, then, but willing to give it a go, Clint decided. “You want us to get out of your kitchen, treorai?” Clint asked his husband casually.

Phil’s eyes flicked to his. “Yes, please,” he said, waving his hands. “Living room or dining room, but out of my kitchen.”

“Dining room,” Natasha announced, and pointed to the appropriate door. Before she followed them, she snagged Phil by the arm and pulled him close for a short, sweet kiss. He grinned at her, and would have patted her on her delightful derriere if he hadn’t had marinara sauce on his hands.

The doorbell rang again and Clint jumped up to get it as Natasha seated herself, smiling at Lance and Al. “I’m glad you could make it, Alley Cat – or I gather you prefer Al?”

“I would, yeah,” he said, surprise obvious on his face. “I… umm… didn’t realize I had a choice.”

“Maybe not in the field,” she said with a grin. “But at home you do.” She waved a greeting at Sam and Angie who entered together, Clint following them. “Right, Deedee?”

Sam grinned. “I didn’t think you’d remember that. We were pretty toasted.” At questioning looks from the male Scoobies, Sam explained. “The Gaelic name that Catriona chose for me is long and hard to say, but both words start with D, so we joked I should be Deedee to the teaglach – family. Clan. But that was after a whole lot of vodka.”

Natasha snorted. “It wasn’t the vodka that toasted me. I blame those fruit things Misty brought. Or the Skittles.”

“Hey!” Misty complained from the doorway, stepping in with Maria on her heels. “No bad mouthing my candy stash, or I won’t share.”

Al looked startled. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“I don’t knock here,” Misty told him cheerfully. Maria moved around her to find a seat at the table next to Natasha. “Sensei in the kitchen?” she asked Clint.

“Yup, putting the finishing touches on dinner,” Clint informed her. “Enter at your own risk.”

Misty grinned. “I like to live dangerously. Beer, anybody?” Maria lifted her hand and Misty gave her a thumbs-up as she disappeared into the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before the last of the Scoobies appeared – Chuck and, to the triad’s surprise, Doc.

“Raj, please,” he corrected as he sat next to Al. “Doc’s fine for the field and work but – ”

“But you’d rather be yourself and not a title at home?” Natasha finished for him, smiling softly. “We get it.” She reached for Clint’s hand where it rested on the table. “I don’t particularly like being called the Black Widow off duty.”

“I’d be happier if you were never called ‘Widow’ again, ever,” Clint murmured, twisting his hand in hers to squeeze it.

“Charles? CJ?” Phil called from the kitchen. “Would you help me carry these pans into the dining room?”

The two men scrambled to obey the summons, and Raj watched them leave with a curious look on his face.

“I’m not allowed to ferry pans,” Clint explained, guessing at the reason for his surprise. “I have a terrible habit of dropping them.” Raj and Al exchanged unreadable glances. It was odd, having the two of them here – so often, they declined social invitations without an explanation.

Conversation ceased as the food was brought to the table and began to be passed around. It remained quiet for nearly half an hour, but Phil wasn’t bothered by it – he found the cessation of dinner conversation a high compliment to his cooking.

Angie was the first one to push away her plate, which made Natasha frown at her. “No, I’m good,” she reassured the redhead. “Honest. I wound up working intel instead of physical training this afternoon, so I’m not as hungry.”

“Leave her be, love,” Phil advised quietly.

“Sorry.” Natasha squirmed slightly – it felt odd to be called that in front of the Scoobies – well, some of the Scoobies. “I just… protective thing, I guess. Yule makes me…”

“Intense,” Clint supplied.

“Yeah. That. Sorry.” Natasha ducked her head.

“Don’t be.” Angie leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. “Just consider it nagging practice for Someday.”

“Someday?” Raj repeated, confusion written on his face.

Misty grimaced. “Sorry Raj, Al – forgot you weren’t privy to all of the Someday plans. It’s… kind of code for…”

“For the day when we go public,” Phil said, smiling slightly. “For an open life together, the three of us, and hopefully a plus one.”

“Oh.” Al tilted his head, gaze bouncing between the three of them. “You know, I think I owe you guys an apology.” He gestured to encompass the whole room. “I didn’t… take it well, when you told us. I was sure this was going to fuck things up, and… I was wrong.”

Phil’s smile was kind. “We were hoping you’d come around.” Standing up, he reached for a bag that had been sitting on the side board. “Hoping enough that there’s a box in here with your name on it, too.” He began passing the boxes out – all identical black flocked boxes, tied with ribbon and tagged with a name. “Merry Christmas.”

Maria was the first to open her box, and found herself overwhelmed with emotion. Nestled against the black velvet was a pendant very similar in size and shape to military dog tags, but obviously of much higher quality. On one side, her Gaelic name was inscribed. On the reverse was the phrase “An Teaglach Tofa.” She looked up at Phil, stunned.

“The Chosen Clan,” he translated. Though he’d spoken quietly, everyone at the table heard him. “Or Chosen Family, if you prefer.”

Many of the Scoobies immediately slipped the necklaces on over their heads, some tucking them under shirts like dog tags. Al and Raj were looking down at theirs in shock.

“I had to have Catriona help me,” Phil continued, looking at their medic and language specialist. “She hadn’t given either of you a Gaelic name yet.”

Raj lifted the pendant out of the box, rubbing his fingers across the engraved surface. “The side that has teaglach, that’s the family thing, right? What does the other side mean? My name?”

“Cneasai drogallach,” Phil murmured. “Reluctant healer.” Raj’s eyes shot to Phil. “Not reluctant in your healing – reluctant in terms of our clan.” Phil rubbed a hand over his face. “Perhaps cautious is a better word.”

“No.” Raj slid the chain over his neck. “Actually, it fits all around. I was – am – a medic less because I chose it than because it was expected of me.”

“And mine?” Al asked.

“Fhuath treigthe. Either abandoned hate or hate abandoned, and Catriona wouldn’t tell me why she picked it,” Phil replied, frowning. “She told me you’d know.”

Al touched the engraved words, looking shaken. “Yeah. I do.” He slid the necklace over his head, clutching the pendant. “I don’t know how she did.”

“She’s good at that,” Clint drawled.

~ * ~


	5. Chapter 5

Misty spoke before the silence could become awkward. “Sensei, I know you think I’m terrible at it, but I’m going to insist on doing the dishes this time.” She rose and started stacking plates. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

“Guests don’t do dishes,” he protested.

“Not a guest,” she retorted. “Guests also knock. I’m your baby cousin, remember, and even though I am not as fanatical about the dishes as you are, I’ll still get them clean.” Walking past Phil on her way to the kitchen, she leaned down to plant a solid, smacking kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll help,” Maria volunteered, loading her arms up with dishes as well. “And you’ll let us,” she told Phil firmly.

“I concede.” Phil lifted his hands in submission. “Just please try not to break anything.”

Misty was filling the stoppered sink with sudsy water, humming softly. She greeted Maria with a broad smile and showed her where to stack the dishes. “If you want to put away the leftovers while I get started, that would be awesome.” The blonde dug around under the sink for a set of gloves and began tackling the mess. Maria obediently dished portions into Tupperware and sealed ingredients into Ziplocs. They were working companionably, and Maria was just starting to relax, when Misty spoke again. “Want to tell me why you just about cut and run when you opened that box?”

Maria frowned. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I’m not just anyone.”

“No, you aren’t.” Maria took a clean towel out of a drawer and started drying the rinsed dishes. “I don’t have my Marine dog tags.”

Misty’s eyes shifted sideways and the apparent non-sequitur. “Okay?”

“My father—” Maria had to pause for a moment, take a deep breath. “When I was discharged, my father made sure that one of the Marines involved lifted my tags, sent them to him. I’d disgraced the uniform, and he wasn’t going to let me continue to wear them. That year for Christmas, I got a plain envelope with a single picture in it – a folded flag in a case and my tags hanging off it.” She looked out the window onto the snowy backyard. “In one photo and with no words, he told me I’m dead to him.”

“Where does he live?” Misty asked, very quietly. Maria shot her an alarmed look. “I don’t think he deserves to have your tags, and I’ll be damned if I let him use them to hurt you.”

Her hard-won control shattered. Gingerly Maria set down the plate she’d been drying, draped the towel over it, and leaned against the sink. She didn’t bother to stem the tears falling freely down her cheeks – muffled her cries only enough that she wouldn’t alarm the rest of the teaglach, just a room away.

Hastily, Misty stripped off the gloves and wrapped Maria in a tight hug from behind. She rested her head against Maria’s shoulder. Somehow the position was comforting and intimate without making Maria feel trapped, without making her worry about how it looked to others, or how it would be interpreted through the lens of sexuality. She just wrapped her arms around Misty’s where they met at her waist and held on.

When she found her composure again, she patted Misty’s arms to let her know she could let go. Misty slid away slowly, but kept a hand on Maria’s back. “I meant it, you know. If you want your tags, we’ll get them back.”

“I don’t need them anymore.” Maria reached for the new pendant, clutching it in her fist much as Al had. “They were a symbol of belonging, and it hurt like hell to lose that, but… I’ve got a new kind of belonging, and I think it’s better.”

“No matter how good Marine grub is, I’d bet it can’t hold a candle to Sensei’s cooking.”

That made Maria laugh, and Misty felt she was steady enough to step away and put her dish gloves back on. “Thanks,” Maria murmured. “For noticing, and asking, and offering, and… everything.”

“I notice important things, and you’re one of them.” At Maria’s raised eyebrow, Misty flushed. “Am I so out of practice that you can’t tell I’m trying to flirt?”

“I…” Maria regarded her with wide eyes. “People don’t flirt with me.”

“I’m trying. I won’t, if it bothers you.”

“No!” Her answer was sharp and immediate. “No. It’s good. I just… don’t always know how to react. And…” Maria looked away, frowning. “Don’t take this the wrong way but… I won’t date an agent. Period.”

“Ah.” Misty resumed scrubbing. “Would that be different, if one of us weren’t an agent? Like… someday, perhaps?”

“Maybe,” Maria said with a very small smile. “But in the meantime, we can flirt for practice.”

~ * ~

“I vote we move to the living room,” Sam proposed. “Fewer chairs, but the floor is comfortable.”

“I should have blown up the camp mattresses.” Clint frowned. “You want me to go find them, MB?”

“We’ll survive without them.” Phil caught Clint’s hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. The ten of them filed into the living room, filling the chairs and couch to capacity and leaving several people on the floor. Clint and Natasha sat at Phil’s feet, hands clasped, and he kept leaning forward to run his fingers through their hair. “I don’t have a handy tradition to lean on, here,” Phil said, a little awkwardly. “If this were Christmas eve at my parents’ house, we’d be watching old Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate.”

“What about you, Sam? What’s Christmas like with your family?” Natasha asked.

Sam made a face. “Terribly proper. I’ll get gifts of tailored business suits – I swear, it happens every year – and at dinner, I’ll get to listen about the ground-breaking surgeries my brother has performed, and the articles my sister has had published in peer-reviewed journals, and then my mother will turn to me and ask very sweetly, ‘And what have you been doing, Samantha?’ and nothing will be good enough.”

“You ever think of taking someone with you? A buffer, maybe?” Clint suggested. “Works for me, when I visit the farm and my brother’s home.”

“Yeah, and who’s going to volunteer to be looked down at for a weekend?” Sam sighed.

“I’ll go,” CJ offered. “I haven’t got any family to plan with – except for the clan – and it seems the kind of thing kin should do for each other, doesn’t it?”

Sam gazed at him for several long moments before she nodded. “Yeah. It does. I’d love to have you join me for Christmas, CJ. At least then I’ll have someone to talk to.”

“Anyone else have fun plans?” Phil asked.

“Home,” Lance answered contentedly. “I’ll go home and be surrounded by sibs and niblings – did you know that’s the gender-neutral term for nieces and nephews? – and eat far too much food. I’ll decorate cookies with the kid and then get yelled at for getting them all sugared up, and my dad will find ways to ask me to tinker with every piece of electronic equipment that’s acting up.” His smile was fond. “Then grandma will corner me and ask why I haven’t brought a pretty young thing with me yet, and did I want her to set me up with Vicky from down the street because she’s such a good girl…”

There was general laughter at that. Angie looked at Lance curiously. “You haven’t taken anyone home with you?”

“Nope. Never been serious enough about someone, and always thought it was unfair to bring someone home, let them fall in love with my family, and then have it not work out.” He shrugged. “She’s going to fall for my family – I mean, they’re awesome – and it would suck all around. Unless…” he raised an eyebrow at Angie. “Are you volunteering? Because I’d gladly take a friend.”

“That would be… yeah, that would be cool,” Angie answered, trying to sound casual.

Lance laughed. “Duly noted. I’ll let the family know I’m bringing a guest. Mom will be over the moon. I apologize in advance for any intrusive questions they ask.” His smile was amused.

“Sounds a bit like your family, loverling,” Natasha said, leaning back to look at Phil.

Phil snorted. “None of my relatives were trying to set me up with Vicky down the street, love.”

“Victor, maybe?” Clint supplied, giving his husband a coy look.

“No.” Phil let his hands drop to both of their heads, a comforting touch to their necks and hair. He wasn’t sure if he was drawing comfort or giving it. “Mom was pretty sure there wouldn’t be anyone after – ” He paused, cleared his throat. “After Ken.”

Clint’s hand crept up to cover Phil’s. “You don’t have to talk about him, Moo—treorai.” He mentally cursed at how close he’d come to letting that nickname slip, but hearing Phil’s distress had knocked him off balance.

“You certainly don’t,” Natasha said, also reaching for his hand.

Lance’s eyes were wide when he met Phil’s. “Do you mean who I think you mean? File 01-3968?”

“You know the damned case number?” Clint exclaimed.

“It’s my job, Clint. I know stuff.” He was watching for Phil’s reaction, and the closed eyes confirmed it. “Okay. Okay.” Lance held up his hands. “I’m not going to ask. I don’t – yeah, I want to know, but not if it’s going to hurt you like this.” To the other Scoobies, he said, “Leave it alone. Please.”

Misty, drawn to the living room by the same instinct that made her a damned good squad leader, paused in the doorway, Maria behind her. The senior agent’s only reaction to the subject was a quick intake of breath. “Sensei?” Misty asked quietly. “Phil?” That drew his attention, because she’d never called him that even in private. “Is this about that off-books mission you told me we didn’t need to run?”

“Yes, and I still mean it.” Phil’s grasp of his spouses tightened briefly. “It’s history.”

Lance and Misty exchanged looks. “You realize we have enough information now to figure it out, right?” Lance asked him. “And as much as I value your privacy, I think this is something we need to know. If you don’t want to tell us, we’ll find out on our own and not make you talk about it, but… Phil, anything that makes the most badass man I know look shaken is going to make me investigate.”

“Hey! I thought I was the most badass!” Chuck protested.

It broke the solemn mood, as he’d intended, and Phil visibly relaxed. “Charles, you may be more visibly badass—” and the Scoobies were all grinning to hear him curse “—but you still haven’t beaten me in the ring.”

“And good fucking luck,” Misty grumbled.

“Hey, I threw him that one time!” Sam protested. “Flat on his back.”

“He was blindfolded!”

~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

It was late by the time the Scoobies and Maria had left, later than Natasha had planned. She’d wanted to pack and work on Catriona’s scrapbook, but found herself unwilling to rush her family out of the house.

Odd, how easy it was becoming to think of them as family.

When it was just the three of them in the house, she should have set up her supplies and started on the scrapbook – or gone upstairs and packed her bags. The Natasha of two years ago would have abandoned the after-dinner conversation to pack and then hauled her project into the living room. A year ago, she would have escaped to pack, but not wanted to work on a gift for someone else in front of her guests.

Tonight, she let those tasks be shunted behind being present in the moment with her husbands and her family, and when the last of them left the house, she found she didn’t feel the urgency to finish her undone tasks – she wanted to make love to husbands and fall asleep wrapped in the warmth of their love, the echo of family in the house.

“You’re quiet tonight, love,” Phil murmured as they undressed for bed. 

She flashed him a smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t.” He caught her chin in his hand and pulled her close for a kiss. “Just curious what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

“She’s thinking about family,” Clint supplied, flopping onto the bed. “Hopelessly romantic thoughts, I’m afraid.”

“You’re rubbing off on me,” Natasha murmured silkily to him, sliding into bed. Phil snorted in amusement but joined them. “I was just… kind of soaking it in, I guess.”

Phil let her settle in the middle – their sleeping arrangements shifted night-to-night, and it appeared she needed the dual contact tonight – and leaned over her to kiss her deeply. “Topping up your batteries again?”

“Mmm.” She let one arm slide under Phil, the other pulling Clint closer. “Just when I think I’ve hit capacity, I discover there’s more room for love.”

Clint nuzzled her neck, exchanging amused glances with Phil. “Like Jello, always room for more?” he said lightly, though she could feel warmth in his mind. “You surprised me tonight, Moonbeam – I wouldn’t have thought to have tags made for Alley Cat or Doc – Al or Raj.”

“I couldn’t leave them out.” He pulled back slightly to make eye contact with them both. “It was… important, even if they didn’t come, that they be a part of this… that we include them.”

“How did you manage to get Catriona to name them?” Natasha asked.

“I asked,” Phil said dryly. “You should try it sometime. Amazing what you can accomplish.” She flashed her eyes up at him to be sure he was smiling, an answering smile flickering at the corner of her lips. “She rattled off Lance’s and Raj’s with no problem, but she had to call me back about Al’s. I think she consulted with Gaia.”

Clint pursed his lips. “What was Lance’s? I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

“Crann taca an teaglach,” Phil answered. “Anchor of the clan.”

“I’m totally calling him crayon taco,” Clint murmured.

“You would.” Phil pushed himself up slightly to lean over Natasha, pulling Clint closer for a long, slow kiss. “I really don’t want to talk about the kids anymore, pretty bird,” Phil told him, his voice deepening. “I don’t really want to talk at all.”

“My goodness, sir,” Natasha breathed. “You’re not thinking of having your wicked way with us, are you?”

“Planning on it,” he answered, bending to kiss her neck, her clavicle.

“That’s why you’re the tactician,” Clint began, but was silenced by a firm kiss from his husband.

When they parted, the archer was breathless. “No more talking,” Phil ordered, his lips barely brushing Clint’s ear. His only response was to reach for his spouses eagerly – and silently.

~ * ~

“If I’d known all it took to shut you up as an order, being your handler would have been a lot easier,” Phil mused into the dark of their bedroom much later, as they let heartbeats slow for sleep.

Clint snorted. “I wasn’t taking an order from my handler, Moonbeam.”

“True. Still.”

Natasha trailed a finger though the greying hair on Phil’s chest. “He was only silent with his mouth, loverling,” she informed him with a smug smile at Clint. “His mind was all babble.”

“Not my fault you make my brain go mushy. Both of you.” Clint tightened his grip on Natasha’s waist.

Phil’s chuckle was low, sensuous. “Thank the Goddess it doesn’t happen with the rest of you.”

~ * ~

Clint eyed the aircraft – boldly emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo – with a practiced eye. “Looks fast.”

“That’s what I’m told,” Phil said with an easy grin. He hefted one of their suitcases and strode across the tarmac. Clint seized two bags and followed him. Natasha was a moment behind them, moving to the passenger compartment with her scrapbooking supplies, already intent on her project. “Think you can fly it?”

“Moonbeam!” Clint dropped one of the bags dramatically, clutching a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded, terribly wounded, that you would doubt it.”

Phil chuckled, rescued the bag and secured it. “Sorry to bruise your ego, pretty bird. Is that the last of it, Nat?”

“Mmmhmm,” she answered absently, attention firmly on her scrapbooking.

“I’ll go start the preflight checks,” Clint said, rubbing his hands together. He’d read the specs on it already, of course – Stark had sent them to Phil, when he’d agreed to lend it – and was eager to pilot the craft.

Amused, Phil walked back out to their vehicle to check it for any straggling items and lock it. Strolling back onto the aircraft, he settled into a seat where he could watch both his loves, utterly unconcerned that their attention was taken up entirely by other matters. He had, after all, spent years observing them – it was no onerous task to do so again.

Natasha roused herself an hour into the flight, setting down the stack of photos and meeting Phil’s eyes. His were dancing as she stretched, conscious now that she’d been hunched over the table for the majority of that time. “You look like a cat in the cream,” she informed him.

“I like the view.”

She crossed to him, sliding onto his lap with an arm around his neck. “I’ll have to tell my husband that you’re staring.”

“He’s staring at me too, Sunshine,” Clint retorted with a grin. He flashed them a smile, all boyish enthusiasm. “You’ll have to pass my compliments on to Stark, Moonbeam – this thing is a beaut.”

“Glad you approve.” Amusement colored Phil’s tone. “You find a suitable landing place near Catriona’s vale?”

Clint tsked at him. “Of course. Wouldn’t have taken off if I didn’t know where I was going to land her.”

“Did you ever find the Sacred Grove on the sat feed?”

“Nope.” He was completely undisturbed by that, too. “Mama said we’ll find it when we need it.”

“Something like our ring charm protects it,” Natasha murmured to Phil, curling her body against his and tucking her head into his neck. He cradled her gently, hands automatically stroking her thigh and lower back.

“Did you let Catriona know what time we’d be there?” Phil asked.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Of course.” He twisted in his seat to look at Phil more intently. “Are you okay, Moonbeam? You’re… doubt-y this morning.”

“Doubt-y?” Phil repeated, blinking.

“Mmmhmm. Rechecking the SUV, our course, our ETA… something nagging at you?”

Phil considered that. “I suppose so,” he said slowly.

“Tell us?” Natasha prompted, pressing a soft kiss into his neck.

“Not sure I can put it into words, my love,” he admitted. “Just… anxious about meeting other druids, I think.”

“About being the only non-Warrior there?” Clint guessed. Phil made a small affirmative noise and cuddled Natasha closer. “You’ve got an invite from the High Priestess herself, I don’t think anyone’s going to cause trouble, Moonbeam.”

{How much of this self-doubt is authentic, and how much is related to Yule?} Natasha asked Clint silently. {He was like this last year, too.}

“Stop discussing me privately,” Phil chided. Natasha chuckled against him. “I don’t have to read your minds to guess what you’re saying this time.”

{I don’t think Yule manufactures self-doubt in him,} Clint answered. {I think it just keeps him from hiding it.}

“Seriously. Enough.”

“Sorry, Moonbeam.” Clint sighed. “You know, for as perceptive as you are already, it’s frightening to consider how much you’d see if you were Chosen.”

“We’re just… concerned,” Natasha said, her voice muffled in his collar. “Can’t we be concerned about you? You do it to us, often enough.”

“Nice try, love,” he said dryly. “You don’t get to turn this around on me.”

“We are concerned,” Clint agreed. “Much as I like your openness, it… scares me, a little.” He shrugged when Phil’s eyes met his. “I don’t know how else to say it. You’re one of the anchors of my heart, Moonbeam. When you flounder, so do I.”

“Hopeless romantic.” It was an automatic retort, but Clint flinched as though Phil had struck him. “I didn’t mean – that isn’t an insult, pretty bird. We call you that all the time.”

“It feels different today.”

Phil bit his lip. “It isn’t meant to. I’m not… trying to be any different today.”

“Dearling, how good is the autopilot function in this bird?” Natasha asked, in what seemed like a complete change of subject.

“Damn near perfect, considering it’s a Stark AI. Why?”

“Can you leave it alone?” Clint nodded slowly, tapped in a few commands, and unbuckled from the pilot’s seat. He slid into the seat next to Phil, pulling Natasha’s legs onto his lap. She immediately curled tighter against them both, and Clint felt a tremor in her calves where they pressed against him.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, helplessly. “I don’t…”

Natasha silenced him with a kiss. “You don’t have to apologize for feelings, loverling. Just… let us hold you, okay?”

Phil nodded, slipping an arm around Clint. They were silent for some time, until Clint cleared his throat. “I think part of this is being so high up, away from Gaia,” he said. “I feel… steadier, when we’re on the ground. You’d think I’d have learned, after Litha.”

“I doubt crossing an ocean helps, either.” Phil shook his head. “I should have considered that when I made plans. I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing for being human,” Natasha pleaded. The tremor Clint had noted hadn’t settled – Phil could feel it in her arms now, too.

Phil bit off another apology and kissed her instead, feather-light. She refused to let the contact stay light, though, and when their lips finally parted, he was breathing hard. “Really, love?” he asked as she shifted against him, her lips caressing his ear, her hand slipping down his chest. “In a Stark aircraft?”

“Yes. I need to feel you.” She reached for Clint too, an impatient hand. “Both of you. Now.”

“So demanding,” Clint murmured, but didn’t resist. “I’ve never fraternized on Stark property before.”

The laugh from Phil was unexpected but welcome. “I’d be surprised if you had.” There was already less tension in his voice as he caressed his loves. “I won’t tell.”

“Can you imagine his face?” Clint asked, grinning. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall.”

“He’d want video,” Natasha muttered. She was distracted by the buttons on Phil’s shirt – why did he bother with a button-up, they were on vacation – and didn’t see the look her husbands exchanged.

“You checked for cameras, love?” Phil asked as she slid the shirt off his shoulders.

“Of course.” She leaned over, mouth kissing down his sternum. “They’re fried with some Angie-tech. Can you focus, please, loverling? I’m trying to make love to you.”

He laughed again and gave up the battle for reason as he pulled Clint’s shirt over his head, one hand buried in her hair and the other tightening on well-defined biceps. “By all means, my love. Pardon the interruption.”

~ * ~


	7. Chapter 7

The moment his feet touched Irish soil, Clint felt a contentment he’d only ever felt at the farm.

With a deep, reverent sigh he kicked off his shoes and sank to his knees, letting bare feet dig into the snow beneath him. On his right, Natasha did the same. To his left, Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp air.

\\\Blessed Be, my Warriors,// Gaia greeted them. \\\Welcome to Eire.//

Her voice rang strongly in their minds, bell-like and ringing. Clint felt the last of his tension seep out as he surrendered his mind to his Goddess. Phil’s hand tightened in his, and he realized his husband had heard the Goddess as well. {Glad to be here, Mama. It’s… awesome.} It was the closest word he could find to the feeling in his heart, and it wasn’t enough – but he knew that She would understand.

{It is,} Natasha agreed. {You are… more, here.}

\\\I am,// the Goddess confirmed. \\\This is the heart of my power, this land. The only place where your connection to me will be stronger is at the Sacred Grove.//

That was a little intimidating – because Clint already felt like an ant confronting a giraffe. Or maybe a dinosaur, one of the really big ones. Brontosaurus, his brain supplied, and a small giggle escaped him.

\\\Be at ease, my archer,// Gaia soothed. \\\You concern your achroi ghra.//

Clint opened his eyes to meet Phil’s gaze. {I’m fine,} he told Gaia – and saw from Phil’s expression that he had heard as well. {Just, you know – it’s kind of like that first time. Or like being really, really stoned on the good stuff in medical.}

{Only you,} Natasha remarked with fond exasperation, {would compare a religious experience to opiates.}

\\\He is neither the first nor will he be the last,// Gaia responded, amusement coloring Her tone. \\\Open your eyes, m’inion – my druid approaches. I shall leave you in her care, but know that I am well pleased with you, and I am but a thought away, were you to need me.//

{Thank you, Mother,} Natasha replied humbly, obeying the command as Catriona crested a small hill. The druid beamed at them, her steps quickening until she was nearly running in her eagerness to reach them. “Easy there, achara!” Natasha was laughing as she stood, her arms open to the petite redhead. “You’ll knock us over.”

“Great Good Goddess, but it is lovely to lay my eyes on all three of you!” Catriona threw herself into Natasha’s arms, hugging her tightly before reaching for Clint and Phil in turn. “Oh, how I have missed you.”

Phil smiled affectionately, ruffling her hair as she pulled away. “We’ve missed you too, little one.” She beamed at him, fairly radiating joy, and he had to hug her again.

“Are you hungry?” she asked when he released her again. “I have a stew on the fire – and a fresh cask of cider, bartered from the village.”

“I could eat,” Clint said with a grin.

“You can always eat,” Natasha retorted, but her eyes were dancing. “Lead on, deirfiur.”

Her cottage was not the outdated abode that the name implied. To Phil’s surprise, there were solar panels on her slate roof and a satellite antenna on one of the outbuildings. Catriona flashed him a grin. “Did you think I lived as I had in centuries gone by, treorai?” By his expression, that’s exactly what he’d thought, and she laughed. “I have kept many of the old ways, it is true – but one must adapt. I may choose to cook over the fire most nights, but I have both electricity and natural gas.”

“Hmm.” Phil cataloged the neat buildings, noting the chicken coop and kitchen garden, vibrant even mid-winter. Rather than being plucked from a medieval tapestry, it looked like one of those off-the-grid survivalist homes – self-sufficient and well appointed. “Color me relieved. Here I was afraid I’d signed up for five days of bored Clint, but if you’ve got internet…”

Clint elbowed him. “I’m not that easily bored. I brought my bow.”

Catriona laughed. “There is no lack of entertainment here, treorai, boghdoir. I have television, even. I rarely turn it on, but I have it.” She grinned. “How else can I keep up with the exploits of the world? I may be isolated, but I am not ill informed.”

“Never thought you were,” Phil assured her.

“Just old fashioned?” she teased. Phil floundered, and Catriona relented. “My apologies. I forget myself.”

Natasha’s hand slipped into Phil’s. “We’re just a little off-kilter, achara,” she admitted quietly. “All three of us are a little… affected by the coming solstice.”

“Ah.” She understood immediately, embracing all three of them in turn. “I had forgotten how intensely you feel them, and no doubt it is greater still being here. I shall endeavor not to forget again.” She stretched up on her toes to kiss Clint’s cheek. Opening the door to her cottage, she waved them in with a ceremonious gesture. “Cead mile failte – a hundred thousand welcomes. Let my hearth and home be as your own. While you abide here, be as kin to me.”

“We’re already as kin to you,” Clint murmured.

“It’s traditional,” she retorted, moving to a kitchen cupboard to take down four pottery bowls. She ladled stew from a pot on a hook by the open fire into each of the bowls, bowing over them as she handed them out. “You must tolerate the pleasantries, dhearthair,” she told him as she gestured for them to seat themselves at her table.

“When in Rome,” he quipped. Her bowl hit the table with enough force to surprise him.

“Do not repeat that,” she said, in a low voice.

Clint’s eyebrows were nearly to his hairline before he realized what he’d said and paled. “Fuck.” He ran his hand over his face. “Sorry, sis.”

Natasha sighed. “We couldn’t even be here an hour before you put your foot in it?”

“Be nice,” Phil chided. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“It never is,” Clint muttered. “I really am sorry, Catriona.”

“I know.” She relaxed, turning an apologetic smile on them. “I would rather that you make such a slip with me, in my cottage, than at the Grove. There are those who would take great offense at such a phrase in our sacred space.”

“Offense, or hurt?” Clint asked. He tasted a spoonful of the stew and let out a contented sigh.

“Offense,” Catriona confirmed with a sour expression. “Hurt is mine, as I am yet the only Druid who witnessed much of… that.” She summarized the entire Roman persecution of the druids in a single word. “The others were elsewhere at Her command. It is only I that bear that particular burden.”

“A thousand apologies,” Phil said, and from him the phrase did not sound manufactured. Some of the old-world ceremony had already seeped into him, Clint mused.

“There is no need,” Catriona assured him, with a soft smile. “As dhearthair said, you are as kin to me – and as such, you are forgiven.”

“Thank the Goddess,” Clint muttered. “Because I’m pretty tactless on my best days, and today isn’t shaping up to be a whole hell of a lot more diplomatic.”

Catriona laughed and covered his hand with her own. “You are not tactless, boghdoir – you are enviably forthright when you are with those you love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Natasha agreed. 

~ * ~

After lunch, Catriona led them on a tour of her vale. The cottage itself had three bedrooms as well as a kitchen, two bathrooms, library, office, den and parlor. It was not small – Clint estimated it was half again as large as their house in DC. Everywhere they looked, it was precisely laid out and meticulously organized – including the massive gardens.

“No wonder you stay here – the chores alone would keep you busy,” Clint marveled, looking at the neat rows of herbs. “What if you have to go off on Goddess business?”

“I have an agreement with a family in the village to watch after the Vale, if I am called away,” Catriona advised him, running her fingers over green stems – herbs that, Phil was sure, were out of season. “They have long served as stewards for me.”

“You got mama mojo that makes all these things grow?” Clint had stepped into one of the rows, sinking bare toes into the dirt. “Hey, it’s warm.”

Catriona laughed. “I do have a Gift for herbal cultivation, dhearthair, but I also have a clever craftsman who has built pipes into the beds which circulate warm water, much like radiant heating floors.” She bent down, running her fingers through the soil. “Almost all the herbal needs of we eleven druids come from this garden, so it behooves the others to keep it in best repair.”

“You’ve mentioned the craftsman before…” Natasha began.

“Aye, and you’ll meet him – you’ll meet them all, but I have good reason for not having given their names, achara.” Catriona anticipated the question, her face serene. “There have been times in which our names were not to be given lightly – I have not spoken with each of the druids, to know what they would like to be called by you. Their titles are safe – none but one bound to the Goddess would know who the Elder Craftsman was, or the Blue Bard – but names are another matter.”

Phil reached for her hand, twining their fingers in automatic intimacy. “You didn’t hesitate to give us yours.”

“I have never hesitated,” she agreed. “My name – full name and title – are widely known. I am a poorly kept secret across the globe. Your agency is by no means the only one to think it alone has identified me – Mussad, SIS… they all know me.” He jolted, shock causing his posture to straighten as he met her eyes. She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “I am not in danger from it, treorai. It has long been the case – I am, as they say, an open book – and I stand as a shield for my brother priests in doing so.”

Clint blinked. “You’re the face of Gaia for… everyone?” he asked, stunned.

“I am.”

“It’s no wonder Fury hates you,” Phil murmured, pulling on her hand until he could wrap her in his arms. Despite it being December and fully winter outside the Vale, it was milder on her property – somehow. He resolved not to think of it too hard, or the science would keep him awake at night. “You have been shielding your Goddess and the other druids for centuries by being in plain sight. It must piss him off, that you don’t have a massive web of intrigue built up.”

Catriona snorted, and some of the air of holiness fled with the noise. “He has other reasons, in his mind, to dislike me – but yes, I believe that my secrecy through openness tactics do irritate him. I will not say that I use them for this reason but… it is a pleasant bonus.”

“You have fresh raspberries?!” Natasha called from ten or twelve feet away – she’d wandered as they talked.

“Aye, among other berries – have you a yen for them, achara?”

“I love raspberries.” Natasha’s answer was distracted, and followed by a groan of pleasure as she popped one of them into her mouth.

Catriona laughed. “Let me fetch you a bowl.” She stepped back into the cottage for a moment, still chuckling.

{Thank you for changing the subject, Sunshine.} Clint kept his eyes on the plants, hoping that meant Phil couldn’t tell they were speaking.

{Of course.} Natasha’s mind, though, was fully on the tart, sweet berries in her hands, and Clint had to laugh aloud. 

“Moonbeam, if you could see her mind – I think the whole thing is tinted raspberry.”

Phil smiled at them both. “I didn’t realize you were that fond of them, love.”

Catriona returned with a bowl and handed it to Natasha. “Go on, fill it up – have you a request as to what they are used for?”

“Eating?” Natasha seized the bowl, dropping two in the bowl for every one she put in her mouth.

The druid shook her head, curls bouncing cheerfully. “Perhaps I will bake a tart for you, then.”

Phil offered his hand to her again, and she slid willingly back into his arms, making a soft contented noise. “You don’t have to go out of your way for us, little one. I’ll help with the cooking, and we don’t want to get in the way of your duties.”

“I have completed the most crucial tasks already – I did not wish to be interrupted overmuch,” Catriona replied. “You are welcome to cook at my hearth, treorai, but I eagerly anticipate the chance to feed kin from my own pot again.”

“I never turn down your cooking, either,” Clint told her, rising to his feet to press a kiss on her forehead before joining Natasha at the raspberry plants. {Hey, come up for air a minute, will you?}

Natasha’s eyes slid to his, brow furrowed. {What’s wrong?}

{You’re freaking me out.}

{Can’t I like raspberries?}

Clint put his hand over the bowl, stilling her free hand with his. {Seriously, Natasha. You don’t let yourself get tunnel vision like this – what gives?}

Her shoulders slumped. {Damn it.} He waited, and she continued a breath later. {I was just… trying to distract myself.} 

{From?}

Her eyes met his, then flickered back over his shoulder to where Phil and Catriona stood. She was pointing out various flora from the curve of his arm, and he was laughing down at her. {It’s stupid,} Natasha said finally. {I just got… jealous.}

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. {Because of Catriona?}

{I told you it was stupid. I know it’s stupid.} She averted her eyes from him, returning to the berry picking as soon as he moved his hand away from the bowl.

{Stop using that word.} His mental tone was as firm as the arm he wrapped around her waist. {We’re all a little off today, that’s all. You’re not stupid.}

She leaned into him, biting her lip as she looked back at their husband. {I don’t remember feeling this possessive last year.}

{There wasn’t any competition, last year,} he pointed out, smoothing her hair down. {Not until after the solstice, when Catriona joined us. I got wicked jealous at Litha – hell, at Ostara, too – so this doesn’t really surprise me.}

{I don’t like it.}

{I didn’t either.}

By the time they rejoined Catriona and Phil, the bowl was filled with raspberries and Natasha was feeling less ashamed of herself. She handed the bowl to Catriona with a small smile, hoping it looked normal.

Phil’s expression told her she’d missed the mark. Rather than asking, he just raised an eyebrow and held his hand out to Natasha as Catriona took the bowl into the cottage.

“I’m just going to – ” Clint said vaguely, gesturing at the house before trotting after Catriona.

“Something the matter, love?” He took her hand and tugged gently, until she was nestled in his arms.

She pressed her head into his neck. “It’s silly.”

{That’s not really any better than ‘stupid’, Sunshine.}

“I don’t care if it’s sillier than Saturday morning cartoons – what’s wrong?”

Natasha closed her eyes and pressed a kiss against his jugular. “I got jealous. For no reason, except that it’s the solstice and I’m a mess. Clint called me on it – I was using the raspberries as a distraction.”

“And then he insisted you tell me,” Phil guessed, running a soothing hand down her back. “You have no reason to be jealous, my love.”

“I know.” She did – knew that even if Catriona had romantic feelings for him, his loyalty to her would never waver – and felt ashamed at her own reaction. She was fighting the flush of embarrassment even as tears built.

He didn’t answer her verbally this time, but put a gentle finger beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his. Gently, infinitely intimate, he pressed his lips against hers, tightening his grasp on her as the kiss deepened.

When they broke apart, she was breathless. “I love you,” she murmured. “Love you both, so much.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her eyelids, kissed away the tears. “I love you both. You are mine, and I am yours, and we are Clint’s.”

“Please don’t tell Catriona.” Natasha cupped her hand around his cheek. “She doesn’t need to know. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she’ll feel guilty if she knows.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He kissed her again – briefer, sharper – possessively – before guiding her into the house after their husband and the druid.

~ * ~


	8. Chapter 8

Catriona looked up from her cookbook when Phil and Natasha stepped back in. She was flipping through dessert recipes, looking for something to make with the raspberries Natasha had so eagerly picked. “Would you prefer a pie?” the druid asked.

“There really isn’t a bad way to serve me raspberries, sis,” Natasha assured her. Her husbands chuckled.

{So, you weren’t entirely faking it, eh?}

{Nope. Exaggerating, a little, but I really do love them. How did you not know that?}

“How did we not know this, Moonbeam?” Clint repeated the question aloud to their husband, grinning. “This is critical get-out-of-the-doghouse information.”

Phil chuckled. His hand, still in the small of Natasha’s back, rubbed idle circles. “Do you know my favorite berry then, pretty bird?”

“Strawberry,” Natasha answered immediately. “Unless it’s artificial, and then you prefer cherry.”

“I have strawberries as well,” Catriona said solemnly, though her eyes were sparkling. “And what about you, dhearthair? Is there a fruit to return one to your good graces?”

“Um…” Clint frowned. “Not really? I mean, I like berries and all, but…” 

Phil stretched his free hand out to Clint, tugging the archer into his arms. “You prefer chocolate. Berries are acceptable in chocolate.”

“Alas, that is something my garden does not provide.” Catriona smiled over at them. “It is good to see the three of you at ease in my kitchen. It has been a long while since I entertained here.”

{And that’s why I’m not saying anything about this stupid jealousy,} Natasha informed Clint pertly. {I am not going to dim her enjoyment of this in the slightest.}

“If you don’t stop calling yourself stupid, I’m going to scream,” Clint growled. Phil’s stillness against him was his first clue that he’d spoken aloud instead of telepathically. “Well, shit. Sorry.”

“Why are you calling yourself stupid, achara?” Catriona asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“I’m…” Natasha started to lie, and found she couldn’t. “Damn it, Clint.”

“Enough.” Phil kissed the side of Clint’s head, pulling Natasha to him so that he could do the same to her. “Solstice is hitting us hard, that’s all,” Phil explained, running his hand down Natasha’s back soothingly. “We’re at, what, three mini-meltdowns each this week? More than last year, at any rate.”

The druid’s frown deepened. “All three of you?” Her eyes sought out each of theirs until they confirmed it. “Botheration.” She stepped to a large wooden cabinet, throwing open both doors to display an immense collection of tiny tea sachets, ruthlessly organized. “Clint, in that cabinet – no, to your left – three mugs please. Four, actually – I rather need a cup myself.” He obeyed, setting them on the table silently. She selected the teas she wanted and turned to the table. Her frown became one of concentration as she touched each mug in turn, filling it with hot water and adding the tea bag. “Come. Sit.” She pointed each of them to specific mugs before picking up her own, taking a sip and reaching for a jar that proved to hold honey. They were silent as she sweetened her tea and handed honey and spoon around the table. “Now. How bad is it?”

Natasha groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I am not upset, deirfiur,” Catriona soothed. “I am concerned.”

“It’s wicked bad,” Clint answered for all of them. “Phil’s right, we’ve all had our moments – hell, Maria called me out on it too. I put a hundred arrows downrange and scared away a handful of agents.”

“And worse than last year… that is curious…” Catriona’s gaze focused inward as she sorted through her experience. “I must confess, this is a unique circumstance. Have you spoken to Gaia?”

“Yes.” Natasha drained half the cup, heedless of the heat, and pressed her hand against her head. “I didn’t really understand Her answer, but She didn’t think it was anything to worry about.”

“She wouldn’t,” Catriona said dryly. “Nonetheless, I will consult Her when next I speak to Her.” She leaned forward to cup her hand around Natasha’s, brushing her thumb over closed eyelids. “Does my touch aid you, or worsen the discomfort?”

“At the moment, it helps.”

“So it doesn’t always,” Catriona said with a sigh. “I was afraid of that.” She gave Natasha’s hand a final pat before leaning back in her chair. “And you, dhearthair?”

“It’s… uhhh… better if you don’t touch Phil,” Clint admitted. “Little territorial right now.”

“As am I,” Natasha agreed. She slipped her hand into Phil’s.

“And I’m insecure,” Phil added, rubbing Natasha’s knuckles with his thumb. “More so than usual.”

Catriona regarded them thoughtfully. She didn’t like that they were uncomfortable – but she wasn’t certain how to fix it, either. “Does it bother you when I touch Natasha?” she asked, looking at Clint.

“Nope.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “It shouldn’t bother me when you touch Phil, either – I know that. We know that.”

“Shouldn’t doesn’t bake bread, dhearthair.”

“What does that even mean?”

The druid chuckled. “Apologies. It means that I am frustrated at my inability to help, and I do not hold your emotions against you. I will guard my motions more – I do not wish to add to your unease.”

“That’s not – ” Natasha began, then shook her head. “No. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be affectionate with us just because Clint and I are compromised.”

“Love,” Phil chided gently, squeezing her hand. “She’s just trying to help.”

“It’s not fair,” Natasha replied, voice very quiet.

Catriona stood and rounded the table until she could wrap her arms around Natasha. Standing next to the seated agent they were close to the same height, and her arms slid around Natasha’s neck to pull her close. “Be at ease, achara m’chroi. I do not think any less of you for your reactions, nor am I offended. Your brain knows that I have no designs on your husbands, as does your heart – it is your Warrior’s soul that is in doubt, and I understand that.”

Natasha turned in her chair so that she could return the embrace. “I feel stupid.”

“You aren’t,” Phil soothed. He kept one hand on her back, thumb moving in idle circles as he watched her cling to the druid. He didn’t know how else to help, and didn’t like the feeling.

“I am going to go speak to Mother,” Catriona said as she released Natasha. “This is… beyond acceptable. Perhaps the three of you need a bit of a rest, after your flight?”

Clint nodded and stood, offering his spouses his hands. “Cuddle time.”

~ * ~

The bedroom which Clint had led his husband and wife to was inviting – blues and greens of various shades brightened the wood furniture, showcasing a massive four-post bed. “Up you go.” He nudged Phil and Natasha to the stairs – small steps built into the side of the bed – and followed them up onto the plush mattress. Because he could, and they were there, he drew the curtains around the bed. They were enveloped in navy blue velvet, blocking out the light through the window.

Natasha was the first to break the silence. “I hope she isn’t upset.”

“She won’t be,” Phil promised, kissing her forehead. “If anyone will understand, it’s Catriona.”

“Mama will set her right.” Clint’s hand found Natasha’s, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry I spilled the beans. I don’t… have that great of control right now, either.”

“I’m not mad.” Natasha squeezed back. “I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“Do you want me to go check on her?” Clint offered. “Or Phil?”

Natasha bit her lip. “No. Damn it,” she growled. “Yes. Please, Clint.”

“I’m gone.” He kissed her – leaned over her to kiss Phil – and slipped out of bed.

The afternoon sunshine was bright, after the shadows of the bed. He wandered back out to the kitchen and, finding it empty, into the back yard.

Catriona was seated just off one of the footpaths, face serene. Clint sank down next to her on the brittle winter grass. “Natasha wanted me to make sure you’re okay,” he told the druid when she opened her eyes to regard him. “And that you know she’s sorry, and that neither of us actually think you would ever even think of doing anything that we should be jealous about.”

“I know.”

Crap. That sounded like they had managed to hurt her after all. He sighed and reached up to tug at his hair. “Do you get these? This… weird emotional psycho psychic mood swing thing?”

“No.” Catriona reached over, stilling his hands with her own. “You will hurt yourself, dhearthair.”

“Why don’t you get them? Why are we so… does anybody else get them?”

“Mother will not confirm it, but…” the druid smoothed his hair down, patting blond strands until it was orderly again. “I believe it is because two parts of your triad are Chosen, but not the third. If there were but the pair of you – or any combination – you would be in balance, yes? Both to the Goddess, or half to the Goddess, but balanced. This is only my supposition,” she continued when Clint frowned. “I cannot find anything in our histories which supports this – or discredits it. But it is a workable theory.”

“So… no cure, except maybe if Phil is Chosen,” Clint guessed. She nodded. “Okay. How can we make it less…” he dug around in his brain for diplomatic terms, then hissed. “How do we keep from being complete fucking basket cases and accidentally hurting your feelings?”

She chuckled, because his exasperation was adorable, and reached for his hands. “I am not hurt, dhearthair. I would be, were I less sure of your true affections – but I have spent enough time surrounded by your love to know that it is truer than any fleeting jealousy.”

He accepted her handclasp, automatically turning his hands so that he could smooth thumbs over her knuckles. “Doesn’t help us stay steady for the other druids, though.” That was a more pressing fear – if someone they knew and loved could set them off, how would strangers impact them? And how did they control for that?

Her lips pursed. “That is a good point, and one which I must think upon. Perhaps I should invite them individually, rather than have you meet the entire Grove at once.”

“If we’re going to do that, can we start with the farm dude? Because at least we have met him.”

“An excellent point.” She nodded sharply. “Yes, I shall send a message to Padraig – he is likely at loose ends currently at any rate.”

“Cool.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going back to my spouses. We’re just going to hide away for a bit.”

She smiled at him, fond amusement dancing in her eyes. “I assure you the rooms are well sound-proofed – feel free to indulge.”

~ * ~


	9. Chapter 9

It was the scent of pie that finally drew the triad out of their bedroom.

When they emerged, Catriona was not in the kitchen or dining room, and Clint wasn’t sure if she would mind him looking through the cottage for her. Instead, he poured cups of coffee for them – when had she made coffee? – and urged his spouses into the den.

“You’re fussing, pretty bird,” Phil informed him.

“Sorry. Sort of.” Clint paused in his chivying to kiss Phil firmly, possessively. “You get insecure, Nat gets jealous, and I apparently get fussy.”

Natasha let Phil tug her into his arm, curling into the familiar embrace and resting her head on his chest. “I like it when you manage us,” she admitted. “I feel… cared for.”

“You are.” He shifted to kiss her as well, lightly running his fingers over her hair. “Always.”

“Even when I’m being a bitch?” she asked, tone deliberately casual.

“Yep.” Clint kissed her again. “Did you think I was going to protest that oh no, you never are?”

Phil chuckled. “If he’d said that, love, you’d have been pissed. Admit it.”

She laughed as well, feeling more tension ease out of her. Being cloistered in their bedroom was fine, but being comfortably ensconced on Catriona’s couch, smelling pie baked with love, was even better. “I should be working on my project,” she said eventually.

“Have you brought work with you then, achara?” Catriona asked, startled. She’d been walking by the doorway when Natasha spoke, not intending to interrupt them but unable to resist.

“Nope. Haven’t finished your Christmas present yet.”

Catriona frowned. “You need not invest such time in a gift for me. This is your leisure time – you should spend it on pursuits which bring you serenity or pleasure.”

Clint sighed and, after checking telepathically that it was alright with his wife, offered Catriona a hand. She stepped towards the couch hesitantly but allowed herself to be tugged down next to them, feet tucked under her. Natasha extended one of her own feet to press it against Catriona’s thigh. “I’m not doing it because I have to,” Natasha explained patiently.

“You’re not an obligation to us, even when we’re hopped up on psychic voodoo,” Clint added. He shifted until one of his feet was beside Natasha’s on Catriona’s leg.

Catriona let her hand rest on their feet. Rather than continue to protest, she changed the subject. “Padraig will join us on the morrow for the midday meal.”

“Anything we should know about him? Or any of the others?” Phil asked. He’d kept his own feet away from her – no sense in making his spouses uneasy.

“He can be… challenging. To be fair, they all can.”

Clint rubbed a hand across his lips. “Do you actively dislike the other druids, or just don’t like them?” At her raised eyebrow, he blew out a breath. “Do you feel negative towards them, or just not positive?”

“There is a single druid for which I have negative feelings – the remainder I am more ambivalent about.”

“The one that calls you that thing,” Clint guessed. “The one you told everyone you hated, that one time.”

Phil leaned over to kiss Clint’s temple. “You’re not making any sense, pretty bird.”

The archer frowned. “You told the girls that one of the druids calls you – what was it – something mother superior, I think.”

“Aye, that is him.” Catriona filled her mug, stirring honey into the warm liquid. “He is known as the Blue Bard, and I fear that we have not the best rapport. He is the next oldest druid, and there have been times that he has seemed… unhappy with my position as High Priestess.”

“It’s reassuring to know that there is politics even among druids,” Phil murmured. “Is he likely to be unpleasant, with us here?”

She scowled. “More so than normal, I fear. He does not approve of… well, anything. Your triad, me having two powerful warriors, the presence of one not sworn to Gaia in Her most sacred spaces, the fact that you are employed by SHIELD… there are any number of reasons he will use to justify his behavior.”

“We can handle it, little one,” Phil soothed. “We’re not here to make friends – we’re here to be friends. Yours. I don’t care what the rest of them think of us, as long as you come out okay on the other side.”

The druid was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was tight with unshed tears. “I am honored – and humbled – by that.”

Clint wiggled her toes against her thigh. “Nat and I may be on emotional roller-coasters, and we may not be able to keep from feeling irrationally jealous, but that doesn’t make you any less our sister. Actually, given what I’ve seen of Phil’s sisters, it might even be more like blood family than not.”

“Your description of the Bard does sound a bit like Megan,” Phil told Catriona thoughtfully. “Pushy, passive-aggressive – not evil or necessarily mean-spirited, but self-absorbed and self-important.”

“Tis a fair description, aye.” She sighed. “I suppose I do think of them as younger relatives – not siblings, exactly… cousins, perhaps. It is good that you have experience with such people, treorai. I do not fear that you will be offended unnecessarily by him.”

“And I’m going to use the same tactics with him that I use with Megan,” Phil added, smiling at her. “Meg either doesn’t know or doesn’t care how much she annoys us – but I am careful never to be intentionally mean or belittle her. She’s not perfect, but she’s still my sister.”

“Exactly.” Catriona’s hand on Clint’s ankle tightened briefly. “I am certain you are not through asking your questions, dhearthair.”

“You’re right.” He settled more deeply into the couch, against Phil. “The farm guy – Father O’Brady. We going to say anything to him about Misty?”

“No.” The response was short and almost curt, but she softened it immediately. “No, she does not wish to be known to him, and I do not see a reason to go against her wishes in this matter. After a century’s absence from her family, I cannot say that I disagree with her decision.”

Natasha had been silently watching her, mind open to Clint as she pondered the druid. “Achara… what is it that you are afraid of?”

Catriona’s eyes shot to Natasha’s. “I have no notion what you mean.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Phil told her gently. “Nat’s right. I’m not even touching you, and I can tell you’re wound tighter than a top.”

For a moment, Clint thought she’d refuse to answer – there was righteous indignation in her eyes, the barest lick of a redhead’s fiery temper building. When she looked away, he surreptitiously let out the breath he’d been holding. “The others do not know of my nightmares, nor do I wish them to.” The admission was very quiet, and the druid’s voice trembled.

Phil’s eyebrows shot up and he too let out a breath. “Two thousand years and you’ve never told?”

“I told you that precious few knew of them, treorai. My brother priests are not among them.” Catriona had let her hair fall forward to hide her face, and Clint itched to lean forward and sweep it back so that he could make eye contact. “They do not react over well to discussions of emotion.”

“They’re men,” Natasha agreed with a sigh. “Not just men, but really, really old-fashioned men.”

“You know such generalizations irritate me,” Catriona retorted, before sighing as well. “It has little to do with their gender, I believe, and everything to do with my position as their leader.”

“That I understand,” Phil murmured. “Subordinates who stubbornly refuse to see you as human.”

“I imagine that you do.” Catriona’s hand was no longer on Clint’s ankle; she was clutching herself defensively.

Clint sat up and slid across the couch to her, an eyebrow raised at Natasha to be sure she was alright with his actions. At her nod, he wrapped both arms around Catriona and pulled her into his lap. “I’m not planning on spilling the beans about your nightmares, or any of your other reassuringly human foibles.”

“Seriously, who gave you that damned word-a-day calendar?” Natasha griped without feeling, but he ignored her. 

“We’ll do our best to bolster – yeah, I know that’s another new word for me, isn’t it Nat? – your reputation as the fearsome and fearless High Priestess, and you can impress the others with how wickedly awesome your Warriors are. And if one of them tries to get… Megan-ish on you, well. Phil can shut them down with a few words of Agent Coulson, or even of Big Brother Phil, and then we’ll all come back here, eat pie, sack out, and then fly to the Inn where there are a whole lot of people who don’t give a flying fuck what your title is, how old you are, or whether you have nightmares.”

Catriona blinked at him for a long moment before a wide smile dawned. “I adore you, dhearthair.” She pressed a hand against his heart, reaching the other out to Natasha. “I have no notion how I survived with my wits intact for so long before meeting you – all three of you.”

“Wits intact might be stretching it,” Natasha teased – being very careful to let her amusement be obvious.

“Be nice,” Phil chided automatically, kissing her hair. “I don’t know how you did it either, little one, but I’m glad we’re here now. Even if it does mean spending the longest night of the year at a latitude that gets less than eight hours of daylight.”

~ * ~

The raspberry pie was every bit as delicious as it smelled. Catriona served it after a thick potato stew, watching them eat with undisguised enjoyment. She tried not to laugh at Natasha’s utter absorption in the dessert, though she didn’t try hard – and she was utterly charmed by Phil’s shocked declaration that her pastry was on par with his mother’s.

He’d immediately asked them all to forget he’d said such a thing and if they didn’t, to at least never mention it to Diane.

~ * ~

“Hallo the house!”

The cheerful greeting from the pathway drew the triad’s eyes, and Natasha reached automatically for the holster she wasn’t wearing.

“It is just Padraig, achara,” Catriona soothed. She rose from her chair and moved to the door, opening it for the cheery druid. “Be welcome at my hearth and in my home,” she greeted him ritually, offering her hands.

“Aye, and tis a fine home.” Padraig leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek. “I thank you for the invitation.”

The triad stood as he approached. A quiet night in, following Catriona’s raspberry pie, had left all three of them on stronger footing. They had spent the morning meditating and sparring – both restful activities as far as they were concerned.

“So.” Padraig crossed the room to them, offering his hands as Catriona had. “Father Padraig O’Brady, the Grey Gardener, Steward of Gaia, at your service.”

Phil was the first to return his greeting. “Agent Phil Coulson.” His title had popped out automatically, but he didn’t take it back.

“Treorai Phil,” Catriona murmured from behind Padraig. “Clanchief of An Teaglach Tofa.”

Padraig’s bushy grey eyebrows leapt towards his hairline. “Aye, and is it so? Tis an honor to meet you.” He bowed over Phil’s hands before shooting a wry look over his shoulder. “I’d be much obliged were you to allow me to be in view of the Bard’s face when you introduce this fine man to the Grove.”

“Be nice, Padraig.”

He chuckled – a low rumbling in his barrel chest that made Clint grin foolishly. Taking that as his cue, he extended his hands to Clint next. “Blessings of the Mother upon ye.”

“Agent Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Gaia’s Archer,” Clint supplied, repeating the handclasp.

“Ah, the Craftsman will be after you to demonstrate that.” Padraig bowed over their hands before clapping Clint on the shoulder. “Tis been a fair number of years ere we’ve had a bowman on the roster.”

“I look forward to it,” Clint said – with remarkable poise. Phil gave him an approving wink.

“And you, my lady,” Padraig said, turning to Natasha.

She extended her hands regally. “Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow. Gaia’s Sword.” Then she quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m no lady.”

“Nonsense.” He squeezed her hands, bowing low over them before lifting them to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Clint wasn’t entirely aware of moving until his hand had slid between Natasha’s skin and Padraig’s lips. He didn’t strike the druid – just interposed himself. He felt Phil step up behind him and reached his free hand blindly for the older man.

Natasha jerked her hands away from Padraig, her expression darkening. “Perhaps I should rephrase. Not your lady.”

He held his hands up defensively. “I meant no harm.” Phil fixed him with a penetrating stare. It only took a breath before the druid shook his head, waving his hands in defeat. “Aye, and rightly you should glare, treorai. Twas a test of your binding, and I’ll beg you to accept my apologies.”

“I warned you,” Catriona said. Far from upset, there was a smugness to her expression.

“Aye, and if I wanted to hear an ‘I told you so’ I’d visit the Bard,” he snapped.

“Watch yourself,” Clint ground out. He’d stepped in front of Natasha and now moved the few steps to put himself between Padraig and Catriona.

Padraig blinked, his hands falling to his sides. “I beg your pardon, Catriona.” He sounded genuinely apologetic, and Clint let posture relax.

“It is of no consequence, Padraig.” Catriona rested a soothing hand on Clint’s forearm. “My Warriors are well-tuned to the turning of the Wheel – and they have served as guardians longer than they have served our Goddess. It would be wise were you not to incite their defense.”

“So I see. Abject and due apologies, Warriors.” He bowed again – this time with no hint of flirtation.

Natasha’s gaze remained fixed on him a moment longer before she allowed her body language to relax. “Are we likely to see that from all of you?”

“I regretfully must say yes, Miss Romanoff.” His lips twitched into a wry smile. “We must all play our little games.”

It wasn’t until he heard the druid call her ‘Miss’ that Clint realized Natasha hadn’t introduced herself as an agent. He frowned at her, beginning to mention it telepathically – 

“Agent Romanoff,” Natasha corrected smoothly, “Or Mistress Coulson. I serve the same organization as my husbands.”

“As you wish, Mistress Coulson,” the druid agreed with another bow.

“Really?” Phil murmured to her. Far from the sarcastic tone he’d been hoping for, it came out in stunned disbelief.

“Really,” she said firmly. “Unless you’d prefer Barton-Coulson?”

“I wouldn’t,” Clint said immediately, before Phil could respond.

Phil didn’t bother to hide his smile. He reached for Natasha, pulling her into his arms and kissing her forehead. Clint stepped up to them, wrapping around Natasha’s back until she was surrounded by warm, male arms. “I love you both,” Phil whispered into her ear.

When the moment ended, Phil looked up to see both druids watching them. He was accustomed to the slightly wistful look on Catriona’s face, but the expression on Padraig’s was unfamiliar. He could see envy and grief most prominently, but his face was wiped of all emotion before Phil could puzzle out the rest. “I was promised a midday meal, your reverence,” Padraig said into the silence. “I should like to cut the cloying sweetness in here with a strong cup of tea.”

Catriona fixed him with a firm and knowing gaze before acquiescing. “Tea can be had.”

~ * ~


	10. Chapter 10

Catriona waited until after the meal to draw Padraig aside, resting a delicate hand on his arm. “Are you well, Father O’Brady?”

He smiled wryly down at her. “I’ll mend, your reverence. It is well that you invited me today – both for yon warriors, and for myself. I’d suggest inviting some of the others – best if not all our fellow Druids receive such a revelation at once.”

“Are they so shocking, then?”

Dark eyes met hers, searching for facetiousness. Finding none, he nodded slowly, running his hand through silver hair. Though significantly younger than Catriona, Padraig’s physical appearance – like several of their fellow druids – was that of an older man, an Elder. He smoothed the hair back down before he answered her. “Most esteemed High Priestess – that you’d ask speaks to your affection and devotion to those two Warriors and their third.” She frowned, opening her mouth to speak but he shook his head. “T’isn’t a criticism, not from me. Though,” he added thoughtfully, “I reckon just such a criticism will be laid upon you by our brethren.” He lowered his voice – not really expecting it to go unheard by the triad, but indicating that what he said was of some delicacy. “Any one of them would be notable, your reverence – two of them would be remarkable. To see a full triad – with less than a decade of service to Her, yet with such power… it is awe-inspiring.” He paused, deliberating, before bowing his head respectfully. “And frightening.”

“Why is it frightening?” Phil’s voice was calm but commanding. His eyes were fixed on the male druid, posture as rigid as if he’d been wearing one of his immaculate suits.

“Gaia does not Choose Warriors unless it is likely they will be needed,” Catriona answered quietly, when Padraig hesitated.

“Aye, and it’s one thing to hear that new Warriors have been Chosen, and another entirely to see the mettle of them as stands before you.” Padraig shook his head.

Natasha tilted her head to one side, regarding the druid thoughtfully. “You haven’t seen us spar – you haven’t even seen one of us draw a weapon. How are you judging our abilities?”

“Ahh…” Padraig hesitated, eyes flickering between the two redheads. “Well, Mistress Coulson, tis… a bit…”

Phil’s eyes narrowed, boring into the druid. He didn’t step towards him, didn’t raise his voice – but when he spoke it was with undeniable authority. “Either he is using a Goddess-gift to do it, or he’s had access to our training sessions – and for your sake, Father O’Brady, I hope it’s the former.”

Clint, who’d hung back silently during the exchange, leveled his eyes on Padraig as well. “He might be stupid enough to spy on you or me, treorai,” Clint murmured. “But you’d think with centuries of self-preservation, he’d be smarter than to spy on Natasha.”

“Tis a Goddess boon,” Padraig explained hurriedly. He flinched as Natasha rose from her seat silently to step up behind her husbands – and there was nothing submissive or defensive in her movement. “I’ve not seen you fight, tis true – but I can see from the strength of your auras what might you’d bring to bear.”

“Auras,” Natasha repeated flatly.

{We fucking talk telepathically and you’re going to give him grief over auras?} Clint asked incredulously. Natasha ignored him.

“Aye,” Catriona agreed, tightening her hand where it still lay on Padraig’s arm. “Each of us sees something akin to auras – much like the threads of connection I spoke of, or that young Lily sees in colors.”

“Does she?” Phil asked mildly.

Blinking, Catriona replayed her words in her mind and realized belatedly that she’d spoken out of turn. Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she blew out an exasperated breath and closed her eyes. “Botheration.”

Abruptly Padraig began to chuckle. It grew to a hearty laugh before Catriona smiled as well. “Och, aye – I’ve not seen you taken aback so in centuries, your reverence – and for that alone would I favor your Warriors.” He bowed over her hand, lifting it from his arm to place a kiss to her knuckles.

She snatched her hand away, only then realizing that both Clint and Phil were stepping forward. “Be nice, Padraig.” She fixed the druid with a sharp look before turning her gaze to the triad. “Be at ease, dhearthair, treorai. He means no harm nor insult.”

It was Padraig’s turn to blink. “Dhearthair?” he repeated.

Clint reached for Catriona, and she slid easily into the space between Phil and himself – careful not to touch either of them, not wishing to spur Natasha’s possessiveness. “Aye, Padraig. We have claimed kinship ties – I consider myself part of An Teaglach Tafa.”

“As do we,” Phil affirmed, sliding his arm around Catriona’s waist. “You may be her brother druid, but she is our deirfiur.”

~ * ~

When they were alone in the cottage once more, Phil pinned Catriona with a sharp look. “Lily sees colors, hmm?”

Catriona sighed. “All that furor, and you choose that to pin me on?”

“The rest of it didn’t have to do with my niece. Our niece.” Phil had relaxed out of Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge mode, but his tone was still firm.

“Aye, but she wished me not to speak of it.” The druid seated herself at the kitchen table with a grimace. “I have kept secrets for centuries in the service of others, yet I cannot protect a wee lass’s secret for a year and a day.”

“Is she in any danger?” Natasha asked. She slid into a chair next to Catriona, kicking her feet up onto the druid’s chair so that they were touching.

“No,” Catriona assured immediately. Her hand dropped to rest on Natasha’s ankle. “I would not keep such confidences, if it were to endanger the lass.”

Phil frowned at them. Natasha’s body language said she would side with Catriona’s wish to keep the details private – her interrogatory eyebrow and the slight twist of her lips told him that much. He shifted his gaze to Clint, raising his own eyebrow in question.

“Kid should be allowed to keep secrets.” Clint sank into a chair opposite Catriona with deliberate nonchalance, but his hand was tense, fingers tightening on an imaginary bowstring.

Not for nothing was Phil considered a brilliant tactical mind. He had absolutely no intention of striding through the emotional minefield that Clint’s comment revealed – it was perfectly clear that regardless of how Phil felt or even Lily’s wishes, to force Catriona to reveal the girl’s secrets would hurt Clint. “Okay.” He sat down next to Clint and reached for his husband’s hand, smoothing a thumb over the tight tendons. “I hope you’ll encourage her to tell us,” he said to Catriona.

The druid sighed in relief. “I will.”

Clint’s hand in Phil’s fidgeted. “Are you going to invite more druids?”

“Aye.” Catriona made a face. “If Padraig could be so overcome… it appears that Mother is not the only one that can underestimate you.” She let out a self-deprecating little laugh.

“Great,” Clint grumbled.

Natasha frowned at him. He’d drawn himself tightly into his mind – she couldn’t see his thoughts clearly. He didn’t respond telepathically when she ‘nudged’ at him. “If you won’t let me in silently, you know I’ll just ask aloud.” He shot her a quelling look, which she ignored.

“Can I blame it on Yule?” Clint whined.

“No.” Phil tugged on Clint’s hand until the archer was nearly in his lap, sliding his other arm around Clint’s waist. “What is it, pretty bird?”

“And if you say ‘It’s stupid,’ I’ll…” Natasha began threateningly.

Clint huffed a laugh. “We might have to put a rule on ‘stupid’ like we have on ‘fine.’ It’s just…” he rubbed his cheek against Phil’s shoulder. “Sis, you said we’re the first bonded pair to serve Her in a long time, right?” Catriona nodded. “So… we’re something new and unusual, and that’s fine. I don’t really like the scrutiny but I’m kind of used to it by now – I mean, I’m the only archer at SHIELD, I got used to standing out. But Padraig was a hell of a lot more surprised that we’d find you lovable, and that fucking pisses me off.” It wasn’t a surface irritation either – it burned not just at the edges of his mind, but deep in the core of him.

“Oh, dhearthair,” Catriona murmured. For a moment, she could say nothing further – too overwhelmed by emotion to speak. When she could force her voice again, there were tears in it. “Please, do not be angered with the other druids on my behalf. They have reason to be surprised – I have spurned such ties for millennia.”

“I can’t exactly turn it off, sis.”

She reached across the table for him, twining her fingers in his as soon as their hands met. The hand she still had on Natasha’s ankles tightened as well, and she wished she had a third hand to touch Phil. As though reading her mind, Phil stretched his hand out next to Clint’s and loosely wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“I’m choosing pity over anger.” Phil’s voice was steady and his eyes, fixed on Catriona, were intent. “For a man – men – of such learning to be so blind to our sister’s true worth speaks of their own flaws, not hers.”

“You are ever the wise one, treorai.”

“Enough wisdom,” Natasha decided, nudging Catriona with her toes. “I want pie.”

~ * ~


	11. Chapter 11

As promised – or threatened – Catriona invited another druid for lunch the following day. The man that strode up the path was tall and thin, with grey liberally sprinkled in his dark hair. He greeted Catriona with a graceful bow before offering his hands to Clint in what was becoming a familiar ritual. Sensing Clint’s reluctance, Phil stepped forward smoothly to accept the greeting. The newcomer raised one elegant brow before speaking. “Hail and well met. I am Sir Ronan Kerr, the Ancient Astronomer, Astronomer of Gaia.”

“Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD… treorai, and Clanchief of An Teaglach Tofa.” Phil hesitated a bare breath before adding the Gaelic titles Catriona had insisted on yesterday. At the widening of Sir Kerr’s eyes, he was glad he had. Releasing the handclasp, Phil gestured to his spouses on either side of him. “Our husband, Agent Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Boghdoir Barton, Gaia’s Archer. Our wife, Agent Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, Mistress Coulson, Gaia’s Sword.”

Ronan drew himself up to his full height, regarding the three of them with hooded eyes. “I see.”

{Well, that’s polite,} Clint remarked sarcastically to Natasha. {At least Padraig was impressed.}

“Be nice, Ronan,” Catriona chided. “Come, take tea with us.” She gestured to the table, and the tall druid moved to a seat with innate grace. Natasha wondered idly if he’d ever taken ballet.

{How many times do you think we’ll hear her tell one of ‘em to ‘be nice’ while we’re here?} Clint asked facetiously as they seated themselves.

{Too many.} Natasha was glad she’d chosen her field uniform when she’d dressed – aside from giving her the psychological advantage of armor, the catsuit emphasized her form. She hid a smirk as their visitor’s eyes fixed on her neckline.

Clint had chosen his field uniform as well – and Phil had donned one of his suits. All three looked professional and lethal. Clint had gone so far as to have Lucille out of her case and sitting on the sideboard, as though he’d laid the bow there after cleaning it. He saw Ronan’s eyes dart to the bow – when he could draw them away from Natasha’s assets – before lingering on Phil’s waist. Clint hoped he was looking for a holster, because if it was a different kind of appraisal…

Catriona rolled her eyes from behind Ronan as she selected mugs and tea. She hadn’t dissuaded the triad from their militant garb or the display of weapons. Ronan was not easily impressed, and anything that would give them an advantage was welcome.

“Catriona tells me you are the expert on other planes,” Phil was saying, giving Ronan a politely professional smile. “I wonder if you could tell me more about Asgard. I had occasion to meet Prince Thor last summer – after fending off a Destroyer attack.”

“Lady Catriona doubtless has more knowledge of Asgard than I,” Ronan demurred. “Queen Frigga is quite fond of her.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Catriona. “Aye, I have spent time there, treorai. You did not ask. What is it you wish to know?” Her tone was deferential, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. 

“Considering he damn near plowed our cumainn into the mud,” Clint drawled, referring to Thor’s fight with Chuck, “I’d like to know if we’re likely to have to fight any Asgardians again.”

“… you fought Prince Thor?”

“I didn’t,” Clint corrected, holding up his hands. “Our cumainn – one of our clan members – had what amounted to a wrestling match with the big blond. Beefy guy, ain’t he?”

{Don’t lay it on too thick,} Natasha cautioned, though there was plenty of amusement in it. “I was sorry to have missed it. Seeing Thor and Chuck both rain-soaked and bicep-straining had to be stimulating.”

“Where were you?”

Natasha’s smile sharpened. “Across the country, following Mother’s orders. Three more of our clan and I were monitoring Doctor Bruce Banner – the Hulk.”

Ronan’s eyebrows leapt. “The gamma scientist?”

“Yup.” Natasha leaned back in her chair. “I’d just wrapped up the Stark Expo – the battle between Iron Man and Whiplash – when Banner popped back up in the US. It was a busy week.”

The tall druid looked into the depths of his tea mug a moment before reaching into his robe and retrieving a money clip. He plucked a bill from it and handed it to Catriona. “You win, most Holy.”

Catriona laughed delightedly, relaxing into her seat between Natasha and Ronan. “One of these centuries, you will learn not to bet against me.” She took the bill from him, winked, and handed it to Natasha.

Natasha tucked it into a pocket, her smile softening into genuine warmth. “What was the bet, deirfiur?” She saw Ronan’s jolt of surprise at the term, but ignored it.

“That you, dhearthair, and treorai would have had more notable battles in the last year than Ronan’s warrior has had in the last ten.” Catriona grinned cheekily. “Of course, had he but asked Mother…”

“Och, aye, rub it in,” Ronan grumbled good-naturedly. “I’d no reason to think your two would have bested my Kidon operative.”

“Kidon?” Phil repeated, startled. “Israeli special forces?”

“Aye. He is a warrior of great renown – though I’ll beg your pardon for not giving you his name.” Ronan bowed his head respectfully. “I am sure that Agents of SHIELD appreciate the necessity of anonymity.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Clint agreed fervently. He tilted his chair back on two legs until Catriona glared at him. “Sorry, sis.”

She touched his hand fondly. Ronan’s eyes followed her hand, and he frowned at the casual touch. “It is of no matter, dhearthair – but please remember, this furniture is older than you are.” Her attention returned to her guest. “I take it he will not be joining us at the Grove?”

“You take rightly, most Holy. I am to convey his appreciation of the invitation.” Ronan inclined his head regally in Catriona’s direction.

Phil sipped his tea thoughtfully. “That’s a shame. I’ve never sparred against a Kidon officer. Perhaps he’d accept a personal invitation?”

“If anyone fights the scary Israeli ninja, it’ll be Natasha,” Clint informed him. “You know we can’t handle it when you’re in the ring without us.”

“You… are not a Warrior,” Ronan stated, though there was half a question in his tone. “You would spar with my Warrior?”

“I spar with mine. I don’t know why yours would be an exception.” Phil’s tone was mild, but the challenge in his eyes was not.

“Down, boy,” Natasha murmured, though not too quietly for Ronan to hear. He choked on his tea. “Phil is our handler at SHIELD, our direct supervisor,” Natasha explained to the shaken druid. “He trains with us – teaches us, and our clan.”

Ronan set his mug down and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Most Holy, would you have sommat stronger in yon larder?”

Catriona rose and crossed to a glass-fronted cabinet, retrieving a cut-glass decanter. She poured a healthy portion into a faceted tumbler and handed it to Ronan. “Your accent drops a century when you’re shaken,” she observed kindly. “Be at ease, Sir Kerr.”

“At ease, most Holy?” he repeated, voice rising an octave. “I’ve not seen such force in any single Warrior in… a millennium, at the very least! And there be three of them sitting here, calm as you please – one not even bound to Her, and yet willing to stand up against one of mine, sight unseen! Are you barking mad, man?” This he demanded of Phil, voice almost cracking.

Phil tried to smother his chuckle. “Depends on who you ask, Sir Kerr – my spouses would tell you yes. Actually,” and he titled his head towards Natasha, grinning more broadly, “the Director likely would as well.”

“Be nice, treorai,” Catriona chided automatically.

Clint snickered. “We’re moving up in the world, MB – you got the same reprimand the druids get.”

Phil pointed a finger at Clint. “The forbidden nickname is still forbidden, pretty bird.”

“Pretty bird?” Ronan repeated, incredulous.

“Oh, now you’ve done it. I’ll never get the fear of Boghdoir back in him.”

“You’re all mad.” Ronan downed the whole tumbler of liquor and held it out to Catriona with a plea in his eyes. She refilled it from the decanter that she hadn’t bothered to put back. He took another long sip before blowing out a breath. “Has Fergus met them yet?”

Catriona’s smile turned predatory. “Not yet. Not until the ceremony.”

“You are a conniving wench,” Ronan complimented. The growl from Clint startled them all – but one look at his expression had Ronan apologizing. “I meant no disrespect to Lady Catriona, Boghdoir Barton. It is an old jest between us.”

“Ah… it may be best not to use it at present,” Catriona cautioned.

He glared at her. “I had figured that out, thank you. Too new in kinship for casual insults, eh?”

“That isn’t it.” Phil had a restraining hand on Clint’s forearm. The archer was as tight as Lucille’s string. “My warriors are… sensitive… to the solstices.”

Ronan’s eyes shot to Catriona, who nodded confirmation. “Aye – Natasha was chosen on the Yule solstice, and Clint on Litha. It has attuned them to the turning of the wheel to an extent I have not seen before.”

“Well.” Ronan drained the tumbler again. “This Yule will not be boring.”

~ * ~

Monday evening after Ronan had left, Phil stood in the spacious cottage kitchen wishing he’d thought to bring his cookbook with him. He’d known he wouldn’t need it at the Inn – the originals of all his recipes lived there. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d need to bake in Ireland. And, he reflected wryly, it was definitely a need and not a want. Since they’d begun living together, Phil had rediscovered the soothing effect of baking – and he needed it tonight.

Without asking questions, Catriona handed him a handbound collection of recipes, open to a double chocolate cookie recipe. He kissed her forehead in thanks before slipping into her apron – it was a little short on him – and beginning to hunt for ingredients in the cupboards.

Sir Kerr’s incredulity about his own abilities had been unexpectedly grating, and it had reawakened a painful doubt of his own. How could he expect the druids to consider him the equal of a Warrior, when the Goddess had not Chosen him?

Clint watched his husband thoughtfully from the safety of the kitchen table. Phil had tuned him out, and Natasha was in the bedroom working on Catriona’s scrapbook, which meant Clint was free to observe. It was one of his favorite pastimes – watching either of his spouses, really – but he couldn’t lose himself in Phil’s movements tonight. Not with that wrinkle between Phil’s eyebrows – the one that meant he was hurting, and trying to hide it. Clint could write a dissertation on the eloquence of Phil’s wrinkles, but this one his least favorite one. He hadn’t seen it since they’d begun sleeping together… in the past, it had been one he’d seen mostly when he’d woken up in the medical bay after a bad mission. He didn’t like seeing it again.

Damn – Phil had added a handful of chocolate chips without measuring, over and above what he’d already added, and that wasn’t good. Clint gnawed on the edge of a fingernail, debating whether to intervene. If it was a minor worry, the baking might solve it…

Nope. Second handful of chocolate. Shit.

Clint abandoned the table and crossed to his husband, stilling Phil’s movements by the simple expediency of covering his husband’s hands with his own, reaching from behind him. “Tell me,” Clint whispered into Phil’s ear as he pressed against his back.

“It’s nothing, pretty bird.”

“Yeah, no. That was a bad lie, Moonbeam.” Clint disengaged Phil’s finger from the wooden spoon and turned him in the circle of his arms until he could draw him in for a kiss. “Your medbay wrinkle is wrinkled.” Clint tipped Phil’s head down until he could press a kiss between his brows, over the offending fold.

“Medbay wrinkle?” Phil repeated blankly. He didn’t resist Clint’s touch but made no move of his own.

Clint touched his finger to it. “This one. Last time I saw it was after that op in Bogota went belly up – when I shattered my pinkie toe. When I woke up from surgery, it was the first thing I saw.”

Phil sighed and let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against Clint’s. “How about if I say I want it to be nothing?”

“What can I do?”

The sincerity of the question – the pure openness of the offer – brought tears to Phil’s eyes that he tried to will away. “I don’t know that there’s anything to be done.”

Clint felt a surge of tenderness and pressed feather-light kisses over Phil’s closed eyes. “Do you want me to track down Sir Kerr so you can beat him up?”

That startled a laugh out of Phil. “No. It isn’t exactly his fault.”

“Can I pretend it is, so I can beat him up for making you doubt yourself?”

“Ah.” Phil sighed. “So you did figure me out.”

“Mmmhmm. You’re my favorite puzzle.” Clint rubbed his hands up and down Phil’s back. “You know I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re Chosen, right? I loved you long before I knew what that even meant. And just because you don’t have a members only jacket doesn’t mean you can’t still kick my ass, in or out of the ring. I’m sure Mama has Her reasons for not Choosing you, but they’re bullshit – you’re as much a Warrior as Nat or me.”

“I should tell the Goddess you compared being Chosen to wearing a members only jacket.”

Clint pinched him in retaliation. “Don’t make light of it, Moonbeam. I’m being serious.”

“Sorry.” Phil nuzzled Clint’s ear, letting out a breath as some of his tension eased. “I didn’t realize I needed to hear you say it.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need, Phil.”

The tears he’d been fighting began to spill out. “You never call me that,” Phil murmured, pulling Clint tighter to him.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re alright,” Clint soothed. {Sunshine, I need backup.}

Natasha joined them a moment later, wrapping herself around Phil until he was enveloped in their embraces. “We love you,” Natasha whispered into Phil’s ear, which spurred another wave of silent tears. “I love you, Philip James Coulson, exactly as you are.”

He shivered against them. It was so rare to hear either of them use his name. He adored the nicknames they called him – even the ridiculous forbidden one Clint used – but to hear his name in that quiet, fervent tone undid him.

“Come to bed, love,” Natasha urged.

“Cookies…” Phil protested weakly.

“I will finish the baking, treorai,” Catriona offered from the doorway. She had stayed respectfully out of the room, but this was something she could do for them.

Clint flashed her a grateful smile as he followed his spouses to the bedroom.

None of them saw her close her eyes and brace herself against the kitchen counter as tears of her own streamed.

~ * ~


	12. Chapter 12

Catriona invited no further guests. Tuesday was spent in quiet and restful tasks. Wednesday morning, the day of the Solstice, found all four occupants of the cottage in the garden meditating.

Though Phil didn’t feel the touch of the Goddess when he meditated, he continued to join his spouses in their communion. The deep, rhythmic breathing soothed him, and relished the serenity on his spouses’ faces as they spoke to Gaia. That was magnified today – he knew that Clint was exceptionally receptive on the Solstice and it appeared to be something Catriona shared. Natasha, he knew, was feeling a different kind of receptiveness… but at least they’d made it out of bed.

Natasha cracked one eye open, lifting an eyebrow at him. He realized he’d made a noise – halfway to a sigh – that must have drawn her attention. “Penny for your thoughts, loverling?”

He let the wry smile bloom. “I think the going rate is $2.99 a minute.”

She returned his smile. “I thought you were tired.”

“I was. I am.” He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll get a second wind after brunch.”

Clint laughed as well, opening his eyes to gaze fondly at his spouses. “I like the Solstice once it hits. I don’t feel the need to obsessively fuss over either of you today. Are you back to par, except for the insatiable hunger, Nat?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You know I am. Well, maybe not entirely normal, but I don’t feel like biting Catriona just for brushing up against our husband.”

“For which I am grateful,” the druid interjected dryly. “I am glad that you do not feel such impulses year-round.”

“Me too.” Phil stood and offered Catriona a hand. “Because you’re a good hugger, and I missed my littlest sister.”

She let herself be pulled to her feet and into his arms, chuckling. “I am not your baby sister, treorai. I’m older than you by several orders of magnitude.”

“I didn’t say baby sister… I said littlest sister.” He grinned before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Natasha was relieved not to feel the irrational pull of jealousy this time and rose to bracket Catriona between them. Clint followed, grinning impishly, and soon the druid found herself surrounded by muscular arms and laughing bodies.

“Enough!” she said finally, unable to contain her laughter. “I have tasks to complete ere the ritual – I fear that you will be on your own for the midday meal, and perhaps supper. There is much to be done.”

“Anything we can do to help, sis?” Clint asked. He hadn’t released her yet, but the arm around her waist was not in restraint.

“I fear not, dear brother.” She raised herself on tiptoes to kiss his jaw – not being able to reach his cheek. “Or rather, nothing further you can do.” She smiled at Natasha and Phil before returning her gaze to Clint. “You have already been of great help, merely by your presence. I have not approached Yule in such a state of rest as I am today in a very long time.”

“Glad we could do something,” Phil murmured.

Catriona reached up to pat his cheek fondly. “I shall be back before sunset.”

“Which comes way too freaking soon here,” Clint grumbled, but stepped out of her way. “Alright, let’s rustle up some chow,” he said to Phil and Natasha, gesturing at the cottage. “Gotta keep our strength up,” he added with a wink.

Phil rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. The triad reentered the cottage, Clint moving to the thoroughly modern refrigerator. “Whatcha hungry for?” At Natasha’s snort, he scowled in mock irritation. “Enough out of you, Sunshine. Your husbands have to eat, or we’ll fade away while you use us for your own pleasure.”

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Phil peered into the fridge over his shoulder. “Omelettes?”

“Can do.” Clint took the lead cooking this morning, to Phil’s amusement – it wasn’t often that his spouses shunted him to the table where there was food to be made. Clint busied himself with preparations, humming distractedly. Natasha tried to help, but retreated to the table when he slapped her fingers with a spatula.

“You’re in an odd mood, dearling,” she said aloud, once she was seated comfortably in Phil’s lap.

“Can’t I want to cook for my loves?” he asked, attention mostly on the stove.

Phil frowned. “You can, and obviously do… but…”

Clint’s eyes focused on them, brows furrowed. “But what? This isn’t a Yule thing, I just…” he frowned. “Clearly I need to cook more often, if it’s got both of you thinking it’s weird.”

“You usually want me to cook, pretty bird.”

“That’s because you’re a damned fine cook, and I like to watch you in an apron,” Clint replied automatically.

Natasha dipped into his mind – trying to be subtle about it, but he felt her presence and pointed the spatula at her. “I told you it isn’t Yule related.” He waited until she’d lapsed back into Phil’s lap before continuing. “I’ve just been thinking of Laura and the kids… and Barney. It’s Lila’s birthday. She’s two today.”

“Would you rather have gone to the farm?” Phil asked softly.

“No.” Clint’s response was immediate and emphatic. “Even if Barney weren’t going to be home.” He prodded the omelette with the spatula thoughtfully. “Maybe if he weren’t home, and it weren’t on the solstice. But even before I was Chosen, I didn’t go to the farm for Christmas. It’s…” He gnawed on his lower lip. “It’s not home.”

“Neither is Ireland, pretty bird.”

Clint turned to him, a sweet smile forming. “Home is where you are, Moonbeam – you and Sunshine both. You two have been home for me a hell of a lot longer than we’ve been married.”

Natasha slid off Phil’s lap, crossed to Clint and curled her hand around the back of his neck. She didn’t kiss him – just tugged until he tilted his head down, and she could press her forehead against his.

Phil joined them, slipping an arm around each of their waists and adding his head to theirs, a tripod of tenderness. He didn’t speak either, just rubbed idle circles against their skin with his fingertips.

They might have stayed that way indefinitely but for the omelette spitting ominously in the pan – but though the moment had passed, the mood had not.

~ * ~

On this longest night of the year, sunset came early. As Catriona returned to the cabin – looking serene and regal in her Druidic robe and ornaments – the triad watched the darkening sky, anticipation and apprehension filling them in near equal measure.

“Be at ease, my Warriors,” Catriona soothed, stepping into the kitchen and to a cabinet for a clean teacup.

“Trying, sis,” Clint admitted with a sheepish grin. “This is worse than meeting the Director the first time.”

She sniffed. “I should hope it is of greater import, at least.”

“Of course it is,” Natasha agreed, shooting Clint a look. He grinned unrepentantly but didn’t argue. “When do we leave?”

The druid stirred her tea with a finger, heedless of the heat, and frowned thoughtfully. “We can leave at any time, now. Were we to depart now, we would likely be the first to arrive at the Sacred Grove. Be it – is it desirable to reach the place ere the others do?”

“I never say no to scouting a location.” Clint reached over to ruffle Catriona’s hair but turned it into a pat when he realized there was a circlet tucked in neatly ordered curls. “It’s going to be a cold, dark wait though.”

“Nay, dhearthair.” Catriona smiled at him, turning her head to rub her cheek against his hand as he pulled back. “The grove will be lit by fire both for light and warmth – and as the time draws nearer, there will be illumination from within as well.”

“Right.” Clint didn’t try to picture whatever that meant – he figured it had something to do with the psychic tiki torches he’d seen last year. “You mind being early?” He lifted an inquiring eyebrow at both Natasha and Phil.

“Not at all,” Phil assured him. “You and Natasha will both be more comfortable if you’ve done recon – and I can sit and wait by a fire just as well as I can at the table.”

“Like you won’t do a sweep of the place yourself,” Natasha teased, elbowing Phil. “You’re not fooling me, Agent Coulson.” He chuckled. “I’d just as soon be there than worry about being late.”

“As you wish.” Catriona drained her tea mug, setting it into the sink. She turned to them, tucking her hands into her sleeves automatically. “Shall we?”

“Just like that?” Clint blinked at her.

She smiled again, the small fond expression that she seemed to reserve for them. “Aye, just like that. Aside from the ornaments of my rank and my druidic robe, there is nothing I need bring to the Grove – my preparations were finished before I returned to the cottage. Shall we?”

“Sure.” Clint bowed extravagantly toward the door, offering his arm to the druid.

She led them out of the cottage and down a footpath, the snow trodden flat but still clean. Clint expected to feel cold – they hadn’t put on any additional layers, and it was December in a northern clime – but didn’t feel so much as a single goosebump. Catriona directed him up a hill and through a copse of trees he hadn’t noticed before and as they crested the hill, his breath caught.

From the rise, they could see an oblong formation of ancient, weathered stones – uprights and verticals, most forming the outermost ring but others standing inside the oval and at its center. The stones were massive – Clint doubted he’d be able to see over the largest of them even if he stood on Phil’s shoulders. From a distance the stone looked grey, mundane – but as they approached, he realized that each block caught the flickering firelight, refracting it from intricate, infinitely small crystalline inclusions. 

“And if you ever saw it, you could even say it glowed,” Clint sang under his breath. Natasha, coming up behind him with Phil, snorted.

“Come.” Catriona tugged gently on his arm to resume their forward motion, drawing them into the innermost circle. A fire was already burning in the stone circle, flames dancing merrily, casting shadows against the monoliths. The druid sat on the edge of the pit, atop a stone ledge that encircled the fire. She warmed her hands briefly, turning to raise an eyebrow at the triad – they had halted at the edge of the first stone enclosure.

Clint ran a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s… uhh… it feels like a church.”

“It is a place of worship, after all,” Catriona agreed with a smile. “Does it make you uncomfortable, dhearthair?”

“Kinda.” He peered into the woods surrounding the grove. “I’m going to take a look around.”

Phil sat down next to Catriona, his eyes following Clint. “Are you certain that my presence is acceptable?”

Catriona fixed him with a stern glare. “Beyond all doubt, treorai. The Goddess wishes you to be present, and no one can override Her. Be at ease.”

Natasha flung an arm around Phil’s neck and seated herself in his lap. “He’s terrible about being at ease,” she teased gently.

“I warned you of that.”

They were quiet, wrapped in each other, waiting for their third to finish his reconnaissance. Catriona didn’t interrupt – she was gazing into the fire, her mind on the ceremony to come.

“Blessings of the Mother upon you,” said a voice from the edge of the stones.

Catriona rose to greet the newcomer. “Blessings of the Mother upon you as well, Malachy.” She gestured for him to approach. “Come, I shall introduce you to my Warriors.”

The druid was a large man who moved ponderously, deliberate care in each step. He bowed slightly towards Phil and Natasha, who had stood with Catriona. “Brother Malachy Rowan, the Stone Druid.”

Before Phil or Natasha could respond, there were more voices from the entrance. Catriona gestured for them to approach. “Padraig, Ivor – welcome. Blessed be.”

Clint dropped from one of the massive stones – startling the other druids – and moved to flank Phil and Natasha. {There are a couple more on the path.}

Sure enough, three more druids appeared at the stone arch. Ronan gestured broadly for the other two to precede him.

“Well and good!” Catriona exclaimed, spreading her hands in welcome. “Cormac, Declan, Ronan – join us.”

Phil had to force himself not to clench his teeth – it was difficult not to feel under siege as the druids converged on the fire. He reached his hand out for Natasha’s, the other to Clint. His spouses squeezed his fingers comfortingly.

“Tis a pleasure to see you again, fine Warriors,” Ronan said, bowing towards the triad.

“And you, Sir Kerr,” Phil replied with perfect courtesy, inclining his head. “Father Padraig.” He offered the other druid he’d been introduced to a welcoming smile as well.

“Shall we begin the introductions now, or wait for the others?” one of the newcomers asked.

Catriona raised an eyebrow in question at the triad. “If there are no objections, we shall wait for our last four – three, pardon. Roderick will not be joining us.”

“Gurt fool,” Padraig grumbled.

“Be nice, Padraig.”

Clint shot Natasha an amused glance. {He’s up to what, three ‘be nices’? Wonder what the record is.}

“Fergus was not far behind me,” Ronan offered diffidently.

“Aye, I’m here,” came the reply, and the last three druids appeared in the archway.

Seeing them clustered around the fire – nine men and Catriona, all the remaining druids save one – Clint was fascinated at the differences and similarities among them. None of the men appeared physically as young as Catriona, though he knew she was chronologically the oldest. Several wore long grey beards – all had grey and white in their hair, and one had a purely snow-white mane. Two were portly, one was almost skeletally thin. They were dressed in a variety of styles both modern and ancient – but as he scrutinized them, he realized there was a clue to their titles in each outfit. Catriona wore white as befitted her title as the White Druid. He recognized constellations in the embroidery on Ronan’s vest, appropriate the Gaia’s astronomer. He could guess that the one in blue was the Blue Bard – the one in well-worth leathers was probably either the Beasttender or the Green Man… he forced his mind to Catriona’s words as she began speaking.

“Blessed be, my fellow druids – I should like to introduce you to my Warriors, who join us in the Sacred Grove at Her invitation.” Her eyes flickered to the man in blue, whose frown seemed permanently etched into his face. She gestured to Phil to begin.

He stepped forward, nodding respectfully at each of the druids in turn. “Agent Phil Coulson of Shield, Treorai Phil, Clanchief of An Teaglach Tafa.” He gestured to his left, and Clint stepped up next to him.

“Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD, Hawkeye, Boghdoir Barton, Gaia’s Archer.”

Natasha, on Phil’s other side, cocked one hip and tried not to smirk. “Agent Natasha Romanoff of SHIELD, Black Widow, Mistress Coulson, Gaia’s Sword.”

“You are no Warrior,” the druid in blue announced, crossing his arms and glaring at Phil.

“Fergus!” Catriona’s voice was strident, causing nine druids and three agents to snap to abrupt attention. “Observe our traditions and respect our Goddess’s invitation, or leave the Grove.”

Though his lip curled, Fergus inclined his head barely. “Fergus O’Finnegan, the Blue Bard. Blessings upon you, in the name of the Mother.”

The remaining druids followed his lead, some giving more of their titles than others. Phil wondered if willingness to reveal a full title had something to do with respect, but put it aside to consider later. He did notice that both Padraig and Ronan gave them full name and titles, which he appreciated.

“Master Cormac O’Connolly, the Elder Craftsman, Craftmaster of Gaia,” the final druid was announcing – and there was no reluctance or reservation in his voice. “Well met, Warriors! I have heard tales of your martial prowess and look forward to a demonstration.”

Clint’s grin was immediate. “Yeah, Catriona mentioned you’d want to see me shoot. I didn’t bring Lucille – my bow – down from the cottage.” He glanced at Catriona, who was smiling at him. “Should I run up and get her?”

“Aye, if you wish, dhearthair – you may bring weapons for treorai and deirfiur as well.” As before with the individual druids, her use of the familial terms caused reactions which she ignored.

“Roger that.” Clint tossed her a casual salute before taking off down the path. He opened his mind to Natasha, not wanting to miss any of the action.

Phil, with a sheepish grin, unbuttoned his suit jacket to reveal his holstered handgun. “Habit had me buckling it on – Nat, make sure Clint knows so that he doesn’t fret that he can’t find it.”

“You came armed to the Sacred Grove?” The question came from the druid in worn leathers – Ivor Sheridan, the Green Man.

“I’ve been a SHIELD agent a long time,” Phil explained with an easy smile. “I grabbed my credentials too.”

Fergus sniffed. “How charming.”

“Thank you.” Phil chose to ignore the sarcasm and take it as a compliment – exactly has he would have with Megan. “Exactly what kind of demonstration did you wish to see, Master O’Connolly? Hand-to-hand, close range weapon, ranged weapon…?”

“All of it!” The craftmaster was beaming at him. “Would any of you consent to sparring with me?”

Phil glanced at Natasha, who let a feral grin spread. “I would be honored, Master.” She rocked forward onto her toes, flexing her hands. “I haven’t had a new challenger in a while.”

“That’s because our rookies have told enough horror stories of you pinning them like bugs that no one will try you,” Clint retorted as he rejoined the group. He handed Natasha a canvas roll that contained her favorite knives and a brace of pistol magazines to Phil. Lucille was slung over his shoulder next to his quiver.

“I thought Sam was improving?” Catriona asked.

“Oh, she is,” Natasha agreed. “She pinned Maria week before last. I thought she was going to burst something, crowing about it.”

“Members of our clan,” Catriona explained to Padraig, when he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “Laoch beag and laoch scail.”

“You have named these… civilians… in Her tongue?”

Clint wondered idly when ‘civilian’ had become an epithet – but then, he figured Fergus could make anything sound like an insult.

“I have named each of our clan, as is my right,” Catriona answered calmly. “I have done so with Mother’s knowledge and approval.”

“I should like to try you in hand-to-hand combat, if you are willing, Mistress Coulson.” Cormac bowed politely towards her. “Does your achroi ghra wish to join you in combat?”

Natasha flicked a look at each of her husbands. “Let’s try solo first. Clint can jump in, if it’s too uneven.”

Cormac beamed at her. “As you wish, Mistress.” He flexed his shoulders, glancing around. “Can a space be made, my brothers?”

A rough circle was formed and Cormac stepped to the center, eyes focused on Natasha. She handed the roll of knives to Phil, pressed a chaste kiss to each of her husbands, and joined the craftsman in the circle.

“I love this part,” Clint whispered to Phil as Natasha circled the druid. “Right before they figure out she’s lethal.” Phil chuckled, slipping his arm around Clint’s waist to pull him closer.

The first pin was so fast Catriona almost missed it. Natasha, taking advantage of her considerably smaller frame, had ducked under Cormac’s arm, seized his elbow, and used the same throw Lance had used on her to put the heavier druid onto the ground. He hit the packed dirt with a grunt and lay there, chuckling, as he caught his breath. “Well done, Mistress.” He rose and brushed at his pants.

“Thank you. My husband taught me that throw.” Her eyes flashed to Phil, her smiling curling automatically.

“You?” Fergus demanded.

“Yes. I am their commanding officer – their handler.” Phil ignored the insult behind the question. “I dictate their training schedules – both my spouses, and our clan.”

Cormac ignored the byplay, his eyes focused on Natasha. She could tell that any reservation he’d had about her abilities was trickling away. Twenty minutes later they were both sweating – and grinning – as the druid extracted himself from a thigh strangehold.

“Enough,” Cormac announced, holding up his hands. “A weapon now, perhaps. Do you know quarterstaff?”

“I do. Maria – laoch scail – favors it.” Natasha grinned as she shook out her hands. “It’s utterly useless in our professions, but it’s a good weapon for training. I didn’t bring one with me, though.”

“Bah.” The craftmaster sighed. “I’ll not challenge you with live blades – I reckon either you’d slice me open, or I’d face the wrath of your husbands for doing the same to you.” He offered her a sheepish grin. “I’m fairly certain it’d be the former rather than the latter. You are quite skilled.”

“Admitting defeat, Cormac?” one of the other druids asked with a cocky smile – Natasha thought it was the Windmaster, but hadn’t sorted out all of them in her own mind yet.

“Och, aye.” He mopped his brow with a scrap of cloth pulled from a pocket.

“If you weren’t trying to evaluate her instead of beat her, you’d have won,” Fergus remarked silkily. “I doubt she could compete with you, if you gave her your undivided attention.” Phil couldn’t contain his derisive snort. “So sure of her abilities, are you?” the Bard sneered at Phil.

“Hers, and Clint’s, and mine,” he answered calmly. “May I have a go, Master Connolly?”

Clint growled, low in his chest. “Phil.” He didn’t protest further – not with so many ears – but the hand on Phil’s waist tightened almost painfully.

The burly craftsman looked Phil up and down appraisingly. “Aye, if your achroi ghra will consent not to murder me for it.” He bowed to Natasha and Clint in turn.

“Have at it, loverling,” Natasha agreed, giving Phil an approving smile as she rejoined her husbands. {We have to let him do this, dearling – he needs it.}

{I know.} A mental voice couldn’t be strangled by gritted teeth, but his tone was as close as it could be.

Phil slipped off his suit jacket and handed it to Natasha, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he regarded the druid.

It was a nearer match – Phil didn’t have Natasha’s agility or wickedly fast reflexes. What he had was a highly honed tactical mind and observational skills second to none, which combined to enable him to dump the druid, gasping, onto his back in the dirt in under ten minutes. He offered the druid a hand up. “How did you injure your knee, Master Connolly?” Phil inquired politely when the druid had regained his feet. “It’s healed well, but you favor it when you pivot.”

Cormac mopped his brow again – and the back of his neck – before peering at Phil with intent eyes. “You may not be a Chosen Warrior, but you are no civilian,” he rumbled. “Twas a battle wound some five hundred years ago, Treorai Phil.”

“Ah.” Phil nodded knowingly. “Mounting or dismounting?”

“Dismounting, though how’d you know…” Cormac shook his head and clapped Phil on the shoulder, causing him to stagger but offer a polite smile. “Should you wish it, I would be delighted to host you and your achroi ghra at my own cottage, to meet my Warriors.”

{Score one for Phil.} Clint’s tone was smug.

{I think that’s ten or twelve, really. Look at the other druids.} Natasha’s eyes flicked around the circle, taking in the various expressions of shock and disbelief.

“If we can arrange the time off, we’d love to take you up on that,” Phil agreed, nodding respectfully to Cormac. “Alternately, you’re welcome to visit us – our teaglach would welcome you as well.”

“I still desire to see you with your weapon of choice, Boghdoir Barton,” Cormac rumbled, bowing towards Clint. “I have not had the pleasure of observing a superior bowman in a great many years.”

Clint grinned wolfishly. “It would be my genuine pleasure.” He slid Lucille off his shoulder and into a shooting grip. “You have a target in mind?”

“It’s pitch black out!”

He wasn’t sure who’d spoken – it wasn’t rude enough to be Fergus – but Clint’s grin didn’t diminish. “Yeah, it is.” He shrugged. “I’ve shot in worse.”

“Can you see my cottage from here, dhearthair?” Catriona asked.

“Yup.”

“Perhaps you could use the post by the front gate?”

It was a good target – solid enough to take several arrows without shattering, and lit by a dim garden light. “Sure.” He fingered an arrow, peering through the trees to make out the post. “It’s not really a fair demonstration.”

“Too far away for you?” Ah, that was Fergus – the man could sneer as well as… well… Clint sorted through his mind for an appropriate comparison. Professor Snape. Yup – that was a Snape-sneer.

“I see better from a distance. I meant because it isn’t moving.” Clint drew back an arrow, breathing evenly. He didn’t go into a shooting trance – didn’t even take long to sight in. When he released the arrow, it sailed towards the post and buried itself in the exact center of the square finial. “Somebody want to trot out there and check it?”

“You doubt your aim?”

Clint snorted. “No, but you won’t take my word for it.”

“He has a point, Fergus,” Padraig said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Fergus sniffed. “I shall inspect the target.” The blue-clad druid strode down the path towards Catriona’s cottage and the post about two hundred and fifty yards away.

“He always like that?” Clint asked Catriona.

“I fear so. The Professor is… temperamental.”

Clint’s grin was absolutely blinding. “Is he really a professor?”

“Aye…?”

Natasha, seeing the connection in Clint’s mind, burst out laughing as well. “Turn to page 394,” she choked out. Catriona looked blank, but Phil chuckled.

“Fitting.” To Catriona, he promised, “I’ll explain later.”

~ * ~


	13. Chapter 13

Fergus returned, looking distinctly disgruntled.

“Did he miss?” Cormac asked, puzzled at Fergus’s discontent.

“No,” Fergus answered shortly.

{He’s pissed that I nailed it, and he can’t lie.} Clint had managed not to smirk, but his mental voice was smug. 

“Clint’s right, it isn’t really a fair test,” Phil said thoughtfully. Natasha saw a flicker in his eyes that reminded her strongly of their niece Rose. “Perhaps after the ceremony a more challenging course can be devised.”

“I’d be fair pleased to see that,” Cormac agreed easily. “Mayhap a few of my brothers would be willing to give it a go as well? All in good fun.”

The druid in blue and white clapped Cormac on the shoulder. “Depends, old friend. If I can attempt to steer Boghdoir’s arrows with my own Windmastery…” He inclined his head in Clint’s direction. “I’m certain you’ve trained to compensate for wind – it would be a fitting challenge.”

“I’m game.” Clint grinned. “I’ll try pretty much any archery challenge. Except shooting in the direction of my spouses,” he added, slipping his hand into Natasha’s.

“Your caution is at odds with your confidence,” Fergus observed. There was less bite to his words, but no respect.

Clint shrugged. “I know I won’t hit them – hell, even if I lost control, they’d be able to dodge an arrow – but I’m a shade protective – ”

A snort from Catriona interrupted him. All nine male druids turned to look at her, which caused a flush to rise in her cheeks. “To call yourself ‘a shade’ protective is akin to me being ‘a bit’ older than you, brother dear. I have seen denning lionesses with less developed instincts.” Clint turned a mock-pout in her direction, which made Phil chuckle and slide his hand down Clint’s back.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, love.” Clint met his eyes, grateful that Phil had managed not to call him ‘pretty bird’ in front of the assembled druids. “I’d just as soon no demonstrations had live rounds fired at anyone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Natasha fingered the bundle of blades Clint had brought from the cottage. “Live steel okay, loverling?”

Phil frowned and looked at Catriona. “If someone were to be injured, could you…?”

“Aye, treorai. Were blood spilled beyond the superficial, I could heal it. I dare say that all who would attempt it are skilled enough to avoid it… though I would ask that we not risk the spilling of blood in the Sacred Grove.”

Natasha tipped her head in polite agreement. “You got it, deirfiur.” She put the blades aside – save for one she slid into a hidden sheath automatically – and reached for her husbands’ hands.

“If we’ve finished fussing over the guests, perhaps we can prepare for the ceremony?” Fergus’s voice was musical, but the disdain in it rang like an off-key note. 

Catriona didn’t roll her eyes, although she wanted to. “Certainly, Fergus.” She was still sitting on the edge of the fire pit. The fire had brightened as it established itself… or at least, that’s what Clint thought had caused the brightness, until he looked closer and realized that the stones around the fire were glowing.

Not brightly. It reminded him of those little glow-in-the-dark stars he’d stuck on Cooper’s bedroom ceiling, or the hands on his watch. So that’s what she’d meant by illumination from within! The stones making up the outer edge were glowing too – some of them sparkling with it, others a quiet luminosity. It was freaky… and breathtaking.

“Come,” Catriona said into the quiet, standing and extending her hands. Natasha slid her hand into one of them, and Padraig took the other. Silently they formed a rough oblong around the fire, all joined hand-in-hand. Clint managed to position himself between Natasha and Phil.

Phil had tried to slip away. This seemed like something that belonged to Her Warriors and Druids, and not for him. Cormac had seized his hand in a blacksmith’s grip and gave him a look that dared him to protest. He didn’t.

Catriona was speaking in Gaelic now, and the words washed over the triad without meaning. This wasn’t a few measured syllables of the language doled out as descriptors – this was the fluid, musical recitation of chants and prayers older than Christianity. 

There was what Phil thought of as a call-and-answer portion – Catriona would speak in a sweet soprano and one of the other druids would reply – and it was so perfectly timed that it reminded Natasha of the best symphony orchestras, the kind that played for the National Ballet.

Minutes ceased to mark the passage of time – it was measured now by the growing brightness in the Grove, the thickness in the air as something built around them. Phil couldn’t see anything, but if he closed his eyes it felt much like fog… a pressure against his skin, a weight to the air he drew into his lungs. At some point, Phil realized that even though Catriona was still speaking in Gaelic, he was somehow understanding her words.

“Great merciful Mother, She who guides us all, She who grants us life and love. We gather in Thy name, O Gaia, we gather here in Thy Sacred Grove. Thine Druids, we whose hearts are Thine – we, whose lives are Thine. We gather now to honor Thee – to thank Thee for the Gifts Thou grant, to pledge anew our souls to Thee. We bring before Thee our open hearts, with hands clasped tight in eternal unity. We bring before Thee Thine Chosen Warriors, those men and women called to serve Thine will. We honor Thee as the Great Mother, as Thee have honored us…”

The words slipped away again, a haze of fluid vowels. Almost against his will, Phil’s eyes closed. Rather than the empty darkness of his eyelids, he could see pinpoints of light – brightening, flickering, coruscating.

Clint’s eyes had closed too, but he saw more than pinpoints. Blazing soul shapes were silhouetted against the darkness, each one indefinably distinct. The brightest, whitest he knew to be Catriona – knew the golden core to be her pure love. Dimmer but still blazing were the other druids… Ivor’s light flickered, sun dappled shadows in an oak grove… Ronan, twinkling like the little star of the song, beckoning and guiding… Cormac, bright as red-hot iron and just as adamantine…

And beside him – always beside him – was the steadfast solidity of Natasha. His breath caught to see her like this – to see her heart unveiled, to know she saw his as well. She was dazzling, and he wanted to sink into that bright warmth… red with passion and purpose and love…

Natasha’s breath caught as she subjected Clint’s spectral form to the same scrutiny, basking in the intense vivacity of his devotion. To her, he shined with vibrant purple light – that imprecise color didn’t quantify the richness, and she understood now why it was the color of kings because it was his nobility that shined in it – the fidelity that hid just beneath the surface but which was the foundation on which his entire life was built…

Together, their astral eyes turned to Phil, with a joint gasp as they saw him clearly. It shouldn’t have surprised them, really, to see him haloed in blue – so fitting, so utterly perfect that their souls would radiate colors that blended together. Their husband wasn’t the blue of the sea or even the sky… he shone with a color seen at a distance, the brilliant blue of snow-capped mountain ranges. Immovable, eternal, he stood in their minds like the peak of Denali, a constant sentinel.

Beyond the interwoven lattice of light that was the Grove stretched an endless breadth of flares of varying intensity. Clint could identify – though he didn’t understand how – the twenty-one other Warriors… could see tendrils of light tying those Warriors to Druids and to Gaia. Curious, he turned his vision inward to see the strands flowing from himself. He traced the strongest to his achroi ghra – no surprises there – and another to Catriona, but was puzzled by a cluster of thinner ones until, with a jolt, he realized that they extended from Phil, Natasha, and Catriona as well.

At the end of each filament he found a clanmate. All eight Scoobies and Maria shone there – not the same radiance as the other Warriors and nowhere near the glare of the Druids, but brilliant nonetheless.

Catriona’s voice increased in volume, the phrases more distinct. With each utterance, light brightened and pressure built, until with a final evocation it broke over them, blinding them with celestial illumination.

Clint came back to himself slowly, blinking his eyes and feeling both exhausted and exhilarated. For once, he felt no need to fill the silence with talk. Beside him, Natasha was taking long, slow breaths.

“I said it to Gaia, but I’ll repeat it to you,” Phil began in a humbled tone, “thank you for allowing me to be here. That was… incredible.”

“Aye, twas,” Padraig agreed. He had released the hands he held and now reached into a pocket for a handkerchief, mopping tears from his face with no self-consciousness. “Reckon we should be thanking ye, Treorai Phil, for tis partly your joy what brightens the day.”

“You are stronger than I expected.” That came from a wiry man who’d introduced himself as Lorcan the Beasttender, and hadn’t spoken since then. “All three of you. My own Warriors, though they be notable themselves, have not the same aptitude.”

Catriona’s smile, though weary, was smug. “They are remarkable.” She had not dropped Clint’s hand, though Padraig had stepped away. She swayed on her feet and Clint pulled her to him automatically.

“You want to head back?” he asked her quietly, hoping his voice was low enough not to carry to the other druids.

“Oh, of course she does,” Fergus drawled. “Our most revered Mother Superior does not join us in our post-ceremony revelry.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed on the Bard. “I’m sure that has nothing to do with the cordial, welcoming atmosphere.”

“Be nice,” Catriona murmured, though it was not clear who she was chastising. “I shall defer the decision to my guests.”

Natasha slid her eyes away from her concerned perusal of the petite druid to fix on Fergus. She was inwardly pleased that he twitched uncomfortably until she spoke. “What kind of revelry?”

“There’s a meal laid on in my cottage.” Cormac gestured vaguely to the west. “Mutton, squash, and apple mead. It is, I fear, some distance away – the rest of us will be planewalking there.”

“Far enough to fly?” Clint asked.

Catriona nodded. “Aye, it would be several hours walk, elsewise.”

“How about packing up our things, flying over to Cormac’s, and heading to the Inn afterwards?” Clint suggested.

She shrugged against him. “That would be fine, dhearthair.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t normally so passive, and he didn’t particularly like it.

{She might just be tired, dearling,} Natasha reminded him.

{Pigs might fly,} he retorted. {Pull the other leg.}

She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, then.” She offered Phil her hand. “We’ll see you soon.” Natasha nodded respectfully to each of the druids even as she tugged on Phil’s hand, urging him down the path back to Catriona’s vale.

~ * ~


	14. Chapter 14

They had barely crossed the threshold of the cottage when Phil pulled Natasha and Clint to him, Catriona following as she had yet to release Clint. “You alright, Moonbeam?” the archer asked quietly.

“Just need to touch.” Phil leaned back against the closed front door, letting himself relax into their embrace. “Is it always like that, Catriona?”

“This was… particularly intense.” Catriona nestled her head into the crook of Clint’s shoulder, one hand clasped tightly in Natasha’s. “I have oft felt something of it – the need for touch, after a ceremony – but this is… more.” Natasha shifted until she could press a kiss to Catriona’s forehead. “Perhaps it was the presence of my Taoiseach – clanchief.”

“I’m figuring out that’s a bigger deal than being an honorary brother,” Phil said dryly. He smoothed her hair. “It isn’t just being Clint and Natasha’s husband, or handler for the Scooby Squad, is it? The other druids looked surprised when you introduced me as a clanchief.”

Catriona hummed in agreement. “It is more complex than ordinary kinship – and it is indeed surprising. I would have discussed it with you ere today, had I but considered the possibility.”

“Maybe you should tell me – us – what’s special about being your chief.”

“Does it have something to do with the threads I saw?” Clint asked. “The ones between us and the rest of the clan, I mean.”

She looked startled. “You saw those?”

“I saw… a lot.” Clint tightened his arm around her. “Saw souls or spirits or whatever of the druids, and my achroi ghra… saw the lights of the other Warriors… saw the Scoobies and Maria.”

“Me too,” Natasha added quietly.

Phil deliberated before adding, “As did I.”

That brought the druid up sharply, and she pulled away from Clint to stare incredulously at Phil. “You? Saw the astral plane? That… isn’t supposed to be possible.” 

Clint chuckled. “Since when has that stopped us?”

“It must be due to the clan binding.” Catriona bit her lip. “It is unexpected, given we have not shared oaths of fealty.”

“We – and the Scoobies – swore oaths to SHIELD. That change anything?” Clint was running his hand up and down Catriona’s back, instinctively providing comfort.

“I would have expected that my own oath would be required, as it is likely my druidic abilities which has bound us.”

Phil laughed softly. “You haven’t sworn an oath to SHIELD, but you swear one to us every time you call us kin.”

“Fair point.” She was quiet for a moment. “Though I hesitate to use the term, there is magic involved. The bonds are… the best that I can describe it, they are made solid with power from the Goddess.”

Clint pursed his lips. “So instead of a thread, they turn into a wire?”

“A good analogy, yes. Even in bygone times, it was rare to see a clan fully unified. It requires trust and loyalty – devotion to the whole.” Catriona relaxed as she explained, falling into her comfortable role of teacher. “As you can imagine, even groups bound by blood do not universally share singleness of purpose.”

Natasha, who had been uncharacteristically quiet thus far, spoke up. “Will he be able to command the Scoobies like you do, deirfiur?”

Phil’s eyebrows had shot up. “Command? Why do you mean, love?”

“When Catriona uses a particular tone – kind of like your field voice, loverling – all of the Scoobies – and us – snap to instant readiness.” She pressed a kiss to Catriona’s forehead. “I wasn’t sure if you knew you were doing it.”

When the druid didn’t answer, Phil squeezed her lightly around the waist. “Tell you what… why don’t we load up the Stark jet, and you can tell us what being your clanchief means on the way to Cormac’s?” Phil suggested. She nodded and eased herself away from them.

“We’re using the buddy system and holding hands,” Clint announced. He looped an arm through Catriona’s. “I feel like if I don’t touch somebody, I’m going to fall off the earth and into the sky.”

“No arguments from me,” Phil agreed, taking Natasha’s hand. “I’d rather be slow than off-balance.”

They made quick work of loading the jet, having packed for their departure last night. In complete disregard for proper protocol, Natasha seated herself on the floor of the cockpit with one arm looped around Clint’s legs. In that position, it was easy for Phil and Catriona to settle onto the floor next to her, limbs tangling comfortably together.

“So… aside from a Gaelic title that impressed the other druids, what can I expect?” Phil asked when they were settled, and Clint had launched the jet.

“Natasha is correct to suggest that you will have some ability to command by voice, as I do.” Catriona sighed. “I endeavor not to use it, but fear has drawn it from me on occasion. It is an ability of the High Priestess – or Priest – to command Druids and Warriors. There is a compulsion to obey for those sworn to Gaia. I believe it is good training and loyalty to treorai that causes the Scoobies to react to mine, for they are not bound to the Goddess. We – the clan – will react similarly to yours, treorai. I do not know how much of it will be compulsion… and it is not an area I would recommend experimentation.”

Phil couldn’t contain his snort. “Little one, people have been compulsively following my orders since I was an Army Ranger. I’m not going to start ordering Scoobies to bawk like a chicken just to see if it works. They obey me because they trust that I have a plan, and their best interests at heart. If Gaia adds certainty to that… well, that just means faster reaction times in critical situations. It won’t change the orders I give.”

“Which is why you are our chieftain,” Catriona agreed with a small smile. “As for other Gifts… I am not certain. As I said, it was never common, and I fear that those chieftains who did possess them were not eager to advertise. I did not have cause to interact with many clan chiefs – it was generally left to the more martial druids. Cormac, Roderick, and Lorcan, mostly.”

Phil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Is it going to upset you if I corner the blacksmith and ask some questions?”

“Of course not!” She looked affronted that he would ask.

“Be at ease, little one.” He patted her knee. Natasha wondered if he’d intentionally chosen the phrase Catriona used most often or it was another example of how thoroughly she’d influenced them. “I didn’t mean that you’d deny me the information, I was checking in with your emotional state. I’m wobblier than I expected to be, and I’m barely on the fringes of what you three would have gone through.”

Mollified, she relaxed back into him. “Cormac would be a good resource, yes. Lorcan may know more, but he is ill at ease with two-legged beings.” At Natasha’s raised eyebrow, she chuckled. “Lorcan the Beasttender, yes? He much prefers the company of quadrupeds.”

“If it’s a choice between a pack of wolves and that bunch, I’d take the four-foots, too,” Clint grumbled from the pilot’s seat. “I like Cormac, and I could probably like Padraig, but…”

“Aye, and well I know it.” The druid leaned into the arm Natasha had around her waist. “I should caution you as to the guests at Cormac’s revelry. We are not the only of Her Chosen to feel the need for touch – many of my brethren will have sent guests ahead to the Craftmaster’s abode. There are likely to be many groupings such as we are now, but…” she blushed. “Not all will remain chaste.”

Clint’s amusement began as a quiet chuckle but quickly turned into a bawdy guffaw. “You mean to tell me there’s a druid orgy? Is that why Frowning Fergus looked so shocked that you’d come with us?”

“It is not an orgy, dhearhair – ” she began angrily, but shook her head and tried again. “To be fair, I have never stayed into the night. The few gatherings I have attended, I have departed when kisses stop landing on cheeks and begin landing on lips.”

He wanted to tease her. Every brotherly instinct he had wanted to needle her about it; pluck at her until her cheeks reddened and she could only splutter indignantly.

His brotherly instincts could shove it.

With a practiced hand, despite under ten hours of flight time in this aircraft, Clint set the autopilot and slipped out of the pilot’s seat and onto the floor. He wedged himself between Natasha and Catriona, then solved the seating problem by pulling the druid onto his lap. Phil pressed into his other side. “We can leave whenever you need to,” Clint promised. “And we can keep from lip kissing amongst the three of us, if it’s going to make your heart hurt.” At her sharp intake of breath, he shook her gently, just enough to make her look at him. “Phil told you we were here to be your friends, sis. That means not pouring salt on your wounds.”

“Not wounds,” Phil corrected softly. He could see the hurt forming in Catriona’s eyes, though she kept her gaze away from Clint’s. “You’re not damaged just because you haven’t found your achroi ghra. It’s more like… flaunting a big stein of beer in front of a pregnant woman. It’s something we can have right now, but something you cannot. It doesn’t mean you never will, and it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you for not being able to have it yet.”

“I don’t even like beer,” Catriona protested, but she uncurled from Clint enough to draw Phil in closer.

“High octane – highly caffeinated tea, then,” he amended with a laugh. “At least, according to current medical research, that’s something to avoid or limit when pregnant.” She sniffed dismissively, but was smiling. 

“You always know what to say, Moonbeam.” Clint’s voice was quiet. “You are a good man – you’ve been my definition of a good man for a hell of a long time. I don’t always deserve you, Moonbeam – but Great Goddess, I love you and Sunshine, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you both.”

Phil was watching him with tenderness. “What brought that on, lovebird?”

“I was just thinking, you know, about your mama mojo.” Clint’s grin was every bit as impish as his words were genuine. “I’d have made the Scoobies do the chicken dance.”

“They’d do it for you,” Phil murmured.

“And I’d take pictures,” Natasha agreed, before shooing Clint back into the pilot’s chair for the remainder of the flight.

~ * ~


	15. Chapter 15

“You got cell reception at the moment, Sunshine?” Clint asked.

Natasha plucked her phone out of her pocket. “Yes… why?”

He extended his hand to her without looking away from his instrumentation. “I wanna check in with Laura, and I didn’t charge mine before we took off.”

She dropped the phone into his hand. “Should you be using it with the plane in flight?”

He did turn to look at her then, lips twisted into a wry smile. “You really think Stark would build a plane that he couldn’t use his phone on?”

“Point.”

“Can you put her on speaker?” Phil asked. He tugged at Catriona until she was sitting in his lap with her feet tucked against Natasha. “I’d like to say hello too, and I doubt I’m the only one.”

“You got it, Moonbeam.” Clint dialed the number from memory and punched the speakerphone button.

“Hey, Nat,” Laura greeted when the call connected. “I thought you were in Ireland?”

“It’s Clint – well, it’s Clint and Nat and Phil and Catriona,” he amended. “We are in Ireland… in flight above Ireland at the moment, but I wanted to check on my favorite niece. One of my favorite nieces?”

Phil smothered a laugh. “You’re allowed to be partial to the one related by blood, pretty bird.”

“Hi everybody.” Laura’s voice sounded odd to Natasha, but she wasn’t sure exactly what the tone meant. “How’s the Emerald Isle treating you?”

“It’s pretty damned amazing,” Clint told her, grinning over his shoulder at Catriona. “Got to meet the other druids, been eating Catriona’s baking – you’d swoon over her garden – and got to be part of the coolest religious ceremony I’ve ever heard of. Life’s awesome. How’s the birthday girl?”

Laura snorted. “Currently covered in frosting, and not happy at my attempts to remove it. At least it’s not dyed… I learned that lesson with Cooper’s blue cake.”

“Aw, but I liked the little man looking like a Smurf,” Clint teased. “Did you get the package I sent?”

“I did… whose idea was the miniature SHIELD uniform?”

“Mine,” Phil answered with a grin. “Does it fit?”

“It does.” There was that odd tone again, Natasha noted. “I’ll have to send some pictures. Fair warning, Cooper wants one of his own now.”

Phil’s grin deepened. “Already on it… and I found a pair of aviator sunglasses for him, too.”

Her laugh sounded surprised. “He’ll love that. You’d better be careful, Clint, or you won’t be the favorite uncle anymore.”

Clint snickered. “My title is secure, considering I found a Nerf bow for him, and I intend to teach him how to use it.”

“Does that mean you’re planning to come out for his birthday?”

Clint, Natasha and Phil exchanged glances. “I’m gonna try,” Clint said after a moment. “March isn’t usually too busy, I think a day or two off can be arranged – might not be all three of us, though. Hard to explain to the director why I need my partner and handler to come with me.”

Catriona made a noise somewhere between a snort and a growl. “Say the word, and I will have him… persuaded.”

“No need, little one,” Phil reassured her, squeezing gently. “We’ll play by the rules until we go public.” At Natasha’s snort, he added, “We’ll mostly play by the rules, at any rate.”

There was a commotion in the background on Laura’s end, and the noise was muffled briefly as she covered the microphone to chastise her daughter. She returned a few seconds later with a resigned huff. “Hate to cut it short, but I’ve got to get back to baby wrangling, or I’ll have frosting all over the house.”

“No problem. Give them both kisses for us, okay?”

“You got it, Clint.”

“We love you,” Natasha offered, surprising her husbands as well as herself.

“Love you too,” Laura answered immediately.

Clint was thoughtful as he hung up the phone and handed it back to Natasha. “She sound weird to you?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t place it,” Natasha admitted. “Could you, loverling?”

Phil shook his head, frowning. “We could have just caught her at a bad time…”

“Maybe,” Clint agreed, but his tone was unconvinced.

~ * ~

The longhouse that came into view on Cormac’s property reassured Phil that his assumptions regarding Catriona’s vale were not completely illogical. Had it not been for the electric lights along the pathway, it could have been plucked from another century – thatched roof, weathered wood sides, and stones at the base. The far side was either built into a hill or had been backfilled to create a hill, the landscape smoothly enveloping the building. The nearer side had doors and windows, all lit cheerily with both lights and candles, and the noise coming from inside sounded like any holiday gathering Phil had ever attended.

They had no sooner alighted from the jet – having landed it in a barren field a hundred yards from the longhouse – than a cluster of children scrambled past them, shrieking about a snowball fight. “You didn’t mention kids,” Natasha remarked, looking down at the druid tucked against her.

“I had forgotten,” Catriona admitted ruefully.

A small body in snow gear – gender indeterminate under the layers – bounced off Phil’s legs. He steadied the child automatically. “Easy there. You alright?” Green eyes peered up at him, framed in red curls, and he felt a squeeze at his heart – someday, he hoped to see that combination with Catriona’s features.

“I’m just jolly!” the child announced, voice as Irish as the curls. “My name’s Cassie. What’s yours?”

Cormac appeared in the doorway of the longhouse, a child propped on his hip. “Let them be, Cassie. They’ve not had a chance to come in yet.” The girl pouted, but offered her hand to Phil. He took it with his free hand – the other being tucked in Clint’s – and let her drag him up the path to the doorway. Cormac was smiling at her. “There now, lassie. Run along with your cousins.” She waved merrily and dashed back down the path. “My apologies, Treorai Phil, for the eagerness of the bairns.”

“No need.” Phil grinned. Any reserve he’d felt at the gathering was easing as he listened to the cacophony of happy children. “There’s a dozen of them where we’re headed next – our nieces and nephews.”

“You’re welcome to bring them with you, in the future.” Cormac shifted the child to his other hip. “Wee lads like this one help with the touch craving.”

“I’d wondered if anyone else got those,” Natasha murmured. She had hung back, behind her husbands, and had Catriona’s hand tucked in her own.

“We all do.” Lorcan stepped into view in the doorway behind Cormac. “At least, the rest of us do…” he temporized, raising an eyebrow at Catriona. 

She nodded slowly. “Aye. Though what I crave is kin-touch.”

Cormac had stepped backwards towards Lorcan until the beasttender’s hand was pressed into his upper back, but paused at her answer. “Is that why you lit out of here like your tail was on fire last year?” Cormac asked. 

“If you had need of touch, all you ever had to do was ask, your Reverence.” Lorcan’s eyes focused on Catriona, as deep and intense as his voice.

Seeing the rising discomfort in the petite redhead, Phil smoothly redirected the conversation. “Thank you for inviting us to your home, Master O’Connolly.”

“Cormac, please, Treorai Phil. Tis a pleasure to host such fine Warriors.” He stepped backwards again, this time to gesture them into the house. Lorcan stood beside him now, a hand still in contact, and Phil couldn’t decide if it was ‘kin-touch’, as Catriona called it, or something more. “Be welcome in my home and at my hearth.”

“It is our honor to be guests at your hearth,” Phil replied formally. “We appreciate your hospitality, and will abide by our end of the covenant.”

Cormac’s eyebrows leapt, and they weren’t the only ones. “You’re a fast learner, treorai,” he complimented.

“Best and brightest,” Clint murmured, squeezing Phil’s hand.

Natasha was distracted from the conversation by Catriona swaying against her, one hand to her forehead. “You have somewhere she can sit down?” Natasha asked Cormac, nodding towards Catriona.

“I do beg your pardon,” Cormac apologized immediately. He led them to a table, pouring mead into wooden steins and hot tea into a handmade pottery mug. The tea he passed to Catriona, searching for the honey. “And I suppose you insisted on fasting before the ceremony, most Holy?” he asked wryly.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously even as she took the honey and put a generous spoonful into the tea. “Fasting, mladshaya sestra?”

“I would be grateful if you would not scowl so, deirfiur,” Catriona sighed. “Yes, I fasted. I wanted today to be as close to perfect as I could manage… for everyone.”

Phil leaned over and kissed her forehead. “We prefer you healthy, little one – and as happy as you’ll let yourself be.” The last part he whispered to her before pulling away, nodding to Natasha to take care of her. “Come on, pretty bird.” He tugged on Clint’s hand. “Let’s let her settle. Cormac, I wonder if I could pick your brain?” Skillfully, Phil led Cormac and Lorcan – who had yet to remove his hand from the craftmaster – far enough away not to intrude on Catriona and Natasha. After a brief check with Natasha, Clint followed their husband.

“I will be fine,” Catriona assured Natasha. “It was not an extreme fast – I did eat dinner with you last night.”

Natasha tutted disapprovingly. “Mother has never said anything to be about fasting. Why was it necessary?”

“My dear sister, there is no justification I could give you that would mollify you, and I have not the strength to argue at present. May we please drop it?”

Scowling, Natasha dropped into the chair next to her. “Consider it tabled – but not dropped. Drink your tea, please.”

Catriona reached out her free hand to Natasha, who immediately took it and rubbed her thumb across Catriona’s knuckles. “I can settle for that.” She obediently sipped the tea, stifling a comment about the oversweetness. Natasha had apparently decided that her fasting meant pouring as much honey as possible into the teacup – it tasted more like tea-flavored honey than honey-sweetened tea.

“May I join you?”

Natasha looked up to see a young woman standing nervously at the edge of the table, two platters of food in her hands. Her accent was either Irish or Scotch – it was hard to be sure, from four words – though she had blonde rather than red hair.

“Be welcome,” Catriona answered automatically. She gestured with her teacup to the seat across from her. 

The young woman sat, flushing slightly. “Tisn’t many lassies here, and I fancied eating my supper without lingering looks, aye?”

“Big assumption,” Natasha drawled. “What if one of us wants to look?”

“Be nice, deirfiur,” Catriona chided automatically, as the blonde’s eyes widened. “She’s teasing, lass. She’s well married – what is it laoch beag says, you are ‘so very married’?”

Natasha’s smiled bloomed, genuine and fond. Almost unconsciously, her eyes found Clint and Phil, her thumb rubbing her wedding band. “So very married,” she agreed.

“Oh!” The blonde covered her mouth with a dainty hand. “You must be the new warrior! The Professor has mentioned you. I’m Sorcha MacDermid – my family is borne of an old line of Lord Sheridan.”

“We’ve not met, Miss MacDermid – my name is Lady Catriona O’Clare, and this is Mistress Natasha Coulson.” Catriona inclined her head gracefully. “Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

Sorcha’s eyes widened. “Blimey, you’re the White Druid. I thought you were a hermit!” Then her face flushed as she realized what she’d said. “Begging your pardon, m’Lady.”

Catriona smiled, waving away the apology. Natasha grinned. “You talk like my husband – who, despite being a professional spy, can’t seem to keep his foot out of his mouth in our personal lives.”

The blonde grinned a little sheepishly and offered the platters she carried to both of them. “I brought plenty.”

Catriona helped herself to the food after a sharp look from Natasha. “I have not attended many of the revelries in recent years, but I do not recall there being a dearth of lasses.” She surveyed the room, only now noticing that despite evidence of multiple children, there were very few women present.

“Och, aye,” Sorcha replied. Natasha wondered if it was exposure to druids that made that phrase a default response, or if it was hereditary – she hadn’t spent much time with Scotch or Irish individuals to know if they all did it. “Mum says it used to be more balanced-like, when she was a lass. More of the druids had wives, then, and daughters.” Her eyes darted around the room, bouncing from one cluster of druids to another. “I reckon they don’t see a need for it, these days.”

“How so?” Natasha plucked a handful of raspberries off the platter Sorcha had brought, popping one into her mouth. As she’d expected, they were as flavorful as the ones in Catriona’s garden… and come to think of it, they were likely from her garden.

Sorcha’s eyes landed on Ivor and Malachy, sitting with their thighs and shoulders touching, before darting to the hand that Lorcan had on Cormac’s back, and brushing over Phil and Clint’s entwined hands. “I’m thinking they maybe just needed an example to follow, eh?”

Catriona snorted. She’d tried to stifle it for fear of insulting Sorcha, but couldn’t restrain herself entirely. “And you think the lot of them have been madly in love for centuries and are just now accepting it?” She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Tis a lovely notion, lass, but I fear it is misguided. No censure exists in the service of Gaia against those who prefer their own gender.”

“Mayhap not by the Goddess,” Sorcha agreed, “but I reckon there was plenty from the people not sworn to her – and even by Her Warriors.” Not wanting to argue with the High Priestess, Sorcha shifted her attention to Natasha. “And how are you finding Ireland, Mistress?”

~ * ~

“So, Clanchief Coulson,” Cormac asked when they were out of earshot of the ladies, “I presume you’re going to interrogate me about Lady Catriona?”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Lorcan tried to stifle a chuckle, which caused Cormac to look over his shoulder sourly at the beasttender. “Sorry, Mac.” He hesitated. “Shall I go?”

“There’s no need on my account,” Phil supplied quickly. “I was hoping to talk to you – both of you – about clanchiefs, and the Gifts She gives us. Catriona said you two, and the mysteriously absent Roderick, have more experience with it than she does.”

“Ah.” Cormac looked down at the child on his hip, debating, before handing him to a passing young man that Phil hadn’t been introduced to. “Lorcan, would you fetch us some mead? This is not a dry conversation.” Lorcan’s hand clenched on Cormac’s back, and the blacksmith made eye contact. Whatever he saw there made him nod and flag down another stranger, requesting four mugs of mead. He gestured to one of the rough-hewn tables.

Clint eased himself into a chair with his back to the wall, pulling Phil into the seat closest to him. Phil laced their fingers together, chuckling softly. At the archer’s raised eyebrow, Phil shrugged. “A year ago, I couldn’t let you touch me in a roadside diner we’d never eat at again and now…” he nodded to their hands. Clint lifted them to brush a kiss on Phil’s knuckles.

“It doesn’t hurt that you’re wearing your gun this time,” Clint teased. Phil smiled at him, until he noticed the odd expression on Lorcan’s face.

“My apologies, Lorcan,” Phil said quietly. Cormac and Clint both looked confused, but the beasttender’s eyes were grateful. “So, tell me Cormac – what can I expect as Catriona’s taoiseach? I’ve got some limited astral sight, at least in connection to the Grove, and we think the ability to command the clan, but Catriona wasn’t sure what other abilities were likely… or possible.”

“Commanding is common,” the blacksmith agreed, crossing his ankles and leaning back in his chair. That brought him more firmly into contact with Lorcan’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I never had a clanchief willing to thoroughly test the compulsion – I reckon it isn’t absolute. Likely some commands cannot be forced, though I’d not wish to find that out on the battlefield.”

“Chances are,” Phil said dryly, “that I wouldn’t be commanding anything so out of character that it’d have to be forced.”

“Aye, there is that.” Cormac took his mug of mead from the young man serving them, staring into it as he considered. “A fair few chiefs have a battleground voice – don’t know what else to call it. Their forces could be spread out over acres, but when the Chief spoke, they all heard.”

Clint grunted. “Not sure how useful that would be, with our comms.”

“Except,” Phil squeezed his hand, “for the not infrequent occasions where the bad guys have figured out how to render those useless.”

“True.”

“It’s tricky, knowing what came from Gaia and what was innate skill,” Cormac admitted. “Cennetig, he always knew which soldiers to send to which parts of a battlefield – but was that a Goddess Gift, or experience? Treasach, he was a dab hand at arranging happy marriages – but was that good observation, seeing something in them, or some power that caused them to love each other?”

Phil made a thoughtful noise. “Some kind of sight, I think.” He met Clint’s eyes, who raised one eyebrow. Phil shook his head minutely and Clint let it go – for now. “I wonder if that’s how I knew that Misty could be trusted – that it was safe to tell Maria.”

“Would make sense,” Clint agreed. “I have no fucking clue how you figured out Misty otherwise – her seeing our rings was something you could have bluffed.” His eyes flashed across to Natasha. “Nat wants to know if your clan chief powers would work before we were a full clan – when you told Misty, it was just the four of us.”

“Misty was the next to join?” Cormac asked.

“Yes. The other Scoobies – the rest of her squad were next, then our last clanmate Maria.” Phil paused. “Though that order may be different, depending on what triggers the clan bond. Is it when we told them, or something else?”

Lorcan made a small noise to draw Phil’s attention. “Perhaps when they receive Gaelic names?”

Phil pursed his lips. “That… might be it. Misty got one the same day we told her. None of the rest of them had Gaelic names until…”

“Until Nat named CJ, right before the Culver Clusterfuck,” Clint supplied when Phil trailed off. “That about when he clicked on in your head, mo—love?”

“Just give in and use it,” Phil said with exaggerated patience. “I’m sure they’ve heard worse.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped again. Phil had never – never – encouraged him to use the forbidden nickname in front of others. He didn’t even allow it in conversation with his family, and barely tolerated it in front of Catriona… and now in front of two near strangers?

{It’s not for your benefit,} Natasha told him. Her tone was serious, almost sad. {Watch Cormac and Lorcan.}

“Well, was it?” Clint pressed. He couldn’t immediately use the nickname – it had to sound natural, for whatever Phil was planning. {Why am I watching them?}

“For CJ? I don’t know.” Phil tilted his head to one side, thinking. “Who would have been next? Lance? Something happened with Lance when we were in New Mexico – I remember thinking that I could trust him to take care of you.” His brows furrowed. “Yeah, that was when it clicked for CJ, too – when he had overwatch on Nat in Virginia. I never doubted him.”

“You need to tell him that, Moonbeam,” Clint murmured. His eyes were on Phil, but he saw Lorcan jolt in his chair. “It would mean a lot to him, to know how early – and how thoroughly – you trusted him.” He rubbed his thumb across Phil’s knuckles. {What the hell? Lorcan jumped like I’d stuck a live wire up his ass.}

{You’d think you’d recognize the signs of unrequited love, dearling.} Natasha’s mental voice was very soft, colored with sympathy for the beasttender. {That hand on Cormac’s back didn’t look familiar? Like, say, when you’d wake up in the medbay, and the only thing that would get your breathing back to normal was a certain senior Agent…}

{Don’t you two start playing matchmaker,} Clint warned. {It’s none of our business – and they’ve had centuries to act on it, Sunshine.}

Cormac, unaware of the telepathic conversation, took a long pull from his mead. “How many are in this clan of yours?”

“Thirteen, including ourselves,” Phil answered immediately.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. “Twelve liegemen and a chief. Did you notice a change when the last one joined you?”

Clint snorted. “That would be the night we told Maria – right before Mama told me about the Disturbance in the Force – if it’s the telling that’s the thing. You think you could pinpoint any changes?”

“That whole week was a nightmare,” Phil said with a sigh. “It’s kind of blurred together in my mind. Nothing stands out in relation to the clan, though.”

“The last Scooby didn’t get a Gaelic name until… well, until you gave out their tags,” Clint pointed out. “And if Catriona had to call you back with Al’s, I’m betting he was the last one named.”

Phil sipped his own mead and decided he liked apple mead almost as much as the wine he tended to pour with dinner. “Now that I can say I did notice. It’s been three weeks or so since Catriona named him and I called Sherrod with it to add the engraving… and something is different.”

“Different how?” Lorcan asked, voice quiet.

Phil wondered if he ever spoke loudly, or if his Gifts with animals kept his tone deliberately unthreatening. “I’ve been more aware of them, all of them. Where they are, what they’re doing.” He ran his thumb over Clint’s knuckles. “I’m accustomed to being attuned to my men – and women – so it didn’t raise any red flags.”

“Nor should it,” the beasttender agreed. His hand had slipped down from between Cormac’s shoulder blades to his lower back, but still the craftmaster gave no indication that he’d noticed.

{Our local informant seems to think the druids needed an example of a gay relationship to give them permission not to seek out wives,} Natasha told Clint. {I’m not sure if that’s true for all of them, but my gut says it’s true for Lorcan.}

{You may not have the same gut instinct as Agent Gibbs…} Clint teased, though the humor faded. {Phil seems to agree with you. Damn, I wish he was telepathic right now.}

Phil reached over with his free hand and touched the crease in Clint’s forehead that always formed during telepathic conversation with Nat. “Everything alright, pretty bird?” he asked quietly.

“How do you do that?” Clint grumbled good-naturedly. “Yeah, I was just bemoaning your lack of psychic skill. Apparently I shouldn’t have bothered, because you see every damned thing anyway.”

Lorcan swallowed convulsively and averted his eyes. Phil saw, but didn’t mention it. “I could read your expressions long before you were Chosen, Clint,” Phil reminded him gently. “Long before there was a ‘we.’ That’s not psychic skill, love.”

“No.” Clint squeezed his hand, smiling wryly. “Just you being you.”

“Unless you’ve more to add about clanchiefs,” Phil said, turning back to Cormac, “we’ll stop monopolizing our host.”

Cormac drained his mug and stood, offering his hands to Phil in a familiar gesture. “I’ve no more to add, Treorai Phil, other than to say I am honored to have you in my home. Be welcome.”

Phil extracted his hand from Clint’s to grasp both of Cormac’s. The gesture drew the craftmaster away from Lorcan, and Phil was surreptitiously watching for a reaction. As his palms met Cormac’s and they bowed politely towards each other, emotion flashed across Lorcan’s face almost too rapidly to observe.

Almost.

Phil released Cormac and reached for Lorcan. The beastmaster, though surprised, extended his hands as well. When he grasped them, Phil leaned forward to whisper briefly in his ear – the ear out of sight of the blacksmith. “If you ever need to talk about it, have Catriona give you our contact info.”

Lorcan drew back immediately, eyebrows drawn together. He didn’t protest – didn’t respond verbally at all. He jerked his head in a sharp nod before stepping back to Cormac’s side, returning his hand automatically to the broad, leather-clad shoulders of the craftmaster.

~ * ~


	16. Chapter 16

Phil led Clint back through the maze of people and furniture to rejoin Natasha and Catriona. He was relieved to note that the young woman – Sorcha – appeared to have joined the dancing, and it was just the four of them.

“Was it that difficult to watch me?” Clint blurted to Natasha when they sat down.

Natasha nodded slowly. “Yes. Believe me now, dearling?”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Catriona asked, eyes flicking between them.

Clint slid his arm around Phil’s waist and leaned into him. “Look, sis, I know you don’t think so but… we do.” His gaze shifted to Cormac, making the rounds of his guests, with Lorcan trailing after him. “Yeah, it looks familiar, Nat. If I’d had permission to touch, I’d have done the same damned thing to Phil, every chance I got.”

“You only had to ask,” Phil murmured, turning to kiss his husband’s forehead.

“Didn’t know that at the time.” 

Catriona looked to the circling pair as well, frowning. “And ye think the pair of them are, what? Star-crossed lovers? Achroi ghra in denial? That is not how Mother treats her Druids.”

“I don’t think it’s mutual,” Phil said finally, after the silence had become uncomfortable. “Cormac doesn’t push him away, but he doesn’t reciprocate either.”

“Great Good Goddess, that’s heart breaking,” Natasha murmured. She reached across the table to clasp Phil’s hand.

The petite druid raised an eyebrow again. “You are allowing your own relationship to color your observations, treorai.”

Phil snorted. “No, I really don’t think so.” He rubbed Natasha’s knuckles absently. “I think our relationship, and our past, lets me see it clearly.” Seeing the continued doubt on Catriona’s face, he shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s not important. How long do you want to stay?” He’d initially planned for several hours, including an expanded demonstration of their martial prowess, but the look in Lorcan’s eyes haunted him. He wanted to be in the plane, headed to his parents’ house – far from the druid’s pain.

“I have no preference,” Catriona said with a sigh. “I fear I am too fatigued to be of much assistance in decision making.”

Natasha shrugged. “Whenever. You got your questions answered, and that’s the main reason we came.”

“You’re the one flying, pretty bird – your call.”

Clint considered it. “Honestly, I need food – and then we can split.”

“Food can be had,” Catriona assured him. “Cormac has laid out quite a spread.” She gestured towards one end of the longhouse, where several tables were full to groaning.

“Score. I’m going to go raid the pantry,” Clint said with a grin, tugging at Phil’s hand.

“I’d like a word with Catriona, if you don’t mind, pretty bird.” Phil smiled apologetically at Clint. “Take Natasha?”

Natasha rose, offering her hand to Clint. He raised an eyebrow at their husband but didn’t protest. When they had stepped away, Phil moved into the seat Natasha had vacated and closed his hand over Catriona’s. “You want to tell me why the idea of Cormac and Lorcan together makes you squirm?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “No.”

He sighed, leaned back into his chair and slung an arm around her shoulders. She cuddled into him without protest. “Have you looked at their threads? With your druid sight?”

“Yes.”

Another one word answer worried him. He pulled her tighter to him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “You do realize I’m not going to drop it, right?” She made a small noise that he took for agreement. “Is it… do you have your heart set on one of them?”

That made her draw back and stare at him, green eyes wide with shock. “Certainly not!”

Two words was an improvement. “You uncomfortable with two men together?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why, little one? Why refuse to see it or encourage it?”

He wasn’t sure later whether he’d heard the words aloud or read them in her eyes. “Because it isn’t me.”

As tears pricked her eyes, he gave up on subtlety and lifted her into his lap. She muffled her tears in the crook of his neck, clinging to him like one of his nieces after a nightmare. He ran his hand up and down her spine, gently soothing. Clint and Natasha returned a moment later with identical concerned expressions, but he shook his head minutely. He’d gotten Catriona to speak of her feelings, and that was sufficient for him – she didn’t need them bandied about.

“Brought you some vittles,” Clint said, putting a plate and bowl on the table in front of Phil.

“Thank you.” Phil reached for the plate with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around Catriona. “Eat up, loves… I think it would be best if we were on our way.”

Natasha, who had eaten earlier with Sorcha and Catriona, gestured to the longhouse door. “I’ll go run pre-flight checks.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clint protested. He reached out for her, snagging one hand and tugging. “Buddy system, remember?”

“I’ll survive the fifteen minutes it’ll take you to finish eating, dearling.” She smiled at him to soften her words. “Phil’s right – I want to get back in the air as soon as we can.”

“If you’re sure.” He didn’t like it, but had learned the futility of arguing with her when her mind was that particular flavor of steely resolve. She pressed chaste kisses to his cheek and Phil’s before disappearing into the darkness.

Clint eyed the shivering druid in Phil’s arms, unsure how to help. If she didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t force her – that was another exercise in frustration. Maybe it was his lot in life to be surrounded by strong-willed women. At a loss, he met Phil’s gaze – looking for direction.

Before either of them could speak, Padraig stepped up to the table. He didn’t reach for Catriona, though his eyes were on her. “You’ll be leaving, then?” he asked, with no censure in his tone.

“Yes,” Phil agreed. “Our apologies for the short stay, but it is a long flight yet until we reach our destination.” He didn’t add that they weren’t expected immediately – the original plan had been to stay the night at Catriona’s cottage and head back to the US tomorrow morning.

“Given that none of us expected her Holiness to attend at all, any time she will grant us is appreciated.” Padraig bowed his head in Catriona’s direction. Phil wasn’t certain if he was being genuine or sarcastic.

Clint shoved his empty plate back – Phil did a double take, not realizing how fast the archer had been eating – and rose to clap his hand on Padraig’s back. “It has been a pleasure, Father O’Brady.”

“Likewise, Boghdoir Barton.” Padraig offered his hands to Clint, who quickly touched palms with him. He turned back to Phil and Catriona, face solemn. “Your reverence… I wish to say something that may seem… intrusive, but it is meant with care.” Catriona lifted her head from Phil’s shoulder to meet Padraig’s gaze, and Phil tightened his arms around her protectively. “You need not guard her from me, Taoiseach. Lady Catriona… It has been many centuries since I saw ye able to let down your guard in the presence of others, be they druids or Warriors. It has been longer still since I saw you accept comfort.” His eyes were fixed on hers. “You have spent two millennia trying to be impervious to emotions, to rise above them and… to see you living them instead is a blessing I did not know that I needed.” He bowed his head. “Thanks be to you, High Priestess, for allowing your brother druids to see you as human. It is… reassuring, in ways I cannot explain.”

Catriona’s eyes were wide, and though her mouth opened, no sound emerged. Instead, she drew herself up in Phil’s lap and offered Padraig her hands. “I thank you in return, Padraig.” She didn’t specify what she was thanking him for – wasn’t sure she could have articulated it – but she squeezed his hands and let him see the genuine gratitude in her eyes.

~ * ~

Take-off was accomplished in silence, though it was a comfortable one. Catriona chose to curl up at Clint’s feet, one arm looped around his calf, and dozed off before they’d reached a cruising altitude. Natasha and Phil seated themselves in the passenger compartment at first, but they’d been in the air less than half an hour when their gradual movements towards Clint landed them on the floor beside Catriona.

“I can put her on autopilot, if you want,” Clint offered quietly. He looked down at the sleeping druid, then extended the foot she wasn’t clasping to his spouses. 

“Tempting, but I find your skill at the controls very alluring,” Phil admitted. “What is it you called it, love? A competency kink?”

Natasha smiled. “Yes, and I agree. It’s not as good as watching you outscore the marksmen with Lucille, but…”

Clint flashed them a smile that was both pleased and a little embarrassed. He never knew how to take their compliments. He had no doubt they were genuine, especially with Natasha’s mind open to him, but he wasn’t accustomed to them. “I feel the same way, when you’re sparring with the Scoobies, or Phil is commanding an op.”

“Or baking.”

“Oh yeah. Anything in an apron.”

Phil reached his hand over to stroke down Clint’s calf. The words, even the tone, were flippant – but he knew better. “I love you both.”

Clint was silent for a few minutes, automatically checking gauges and readouts. “You get Catriona to tell you what upset her about Cormac and Lorcan?” He’d pitched his voice low enough to hopefully avoid waking the sleeping druid.

“The usual, I’m afraid – she’s jealous, and ashamed of it.” Phil sighed. “Padraig said something before we left that makes me think she hasn’t allowed any of them to see past her public persona in a very long time.”

Natasha snorted. “Gee. I have no idea what that looks like. It only took near-death experiences and the interference of an actual deity to get you to let us in, Phil.”

“Be nice,” he chastised, then chuckled. “I suppose I could pick up worse phrases from her.”

“I’d love to hear you tell Fury to ‘be at ease.’ I bet he’d pop a blood vessel,” Clint mused. “Speaking of Fury…”

“Must we?”

“Sorry, Moonbeam, but I’ve been thinking and…” He turned away from the controls to meet Phil’s gaze. “Okay, so Fury knew that Catriona was with us last Christmas at the Inn, right?”

“Yes…?”

“How?”

Phil blinked. The hand he’d rested on Clint tightened, and his other reached for Natasha. “Son of a bitch.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed on him. Phil didn’t, as a rule, curse. He claimed that saving it for emergencies made people more likely to pay attention to it – and she certainly was now. “Were we under surveillance?”

“If we had been, he’d know about our relationship.” Clint’s voice was calm, but the muscles under Phil’s hand were trembling. “So the question is – does he know, and not say anything, or did he find out about Catriona being there some other way?”

“He’d say something,” Phil said immediately. “Even if it was just to me. Maybe particularly to me. We… were friends, and I think that would at least get me a heads up before he had to act on it. He’s still making snide comments about me dating Catriona, and he wouldn’t if he knew about us.”

“Not even as a diversionary tactic?” Natasha offered. She twined her fingers in his, not sure if she was giving comfort or seeking it.

“I don’t think so.” Phil’s voice was distant now, as he considered variables and probabilities. The initial jolt had passed, and he was applying his formidable tactical skills to the situation. “Who knew she was there?”

“Your parents, sisters, in-laws…” Answering Phil was so ingrained in him that Clint hadn’t realized he’d spoken. “She didn’t go with us into town. Did we talk about her, when were at the laser place?”

Natasha searched her memory – serum-enhanced, she had nearly perfect recall – and shook her head. “Not a word.”

Phil grimaced. “Either someone spoke out of turn, or deliberately passed on the information.”

“If someone did it maliciously, can I nominate Derek?” Clint suggested sourly.

“If it had been malicious, I’d think our relationship would have been part of the intel.” Phil shifted on the floor, trying to ease a knot in his back. “Derek doesn’t have the contacts to have leaked it to Fury. Thom does, but I have a hard time thinking he would do so deliberately.”

“Maybe you should get off the floor,” Clint suggested. He tried for casual and, when that failed, aimed for sarcasm. “I mean, I don’t really expect you to kiss my feet.”

Phil quirked an eyebrow. “Still feeling protective, lovebird?”

Clint twitched a shoulder. “Maybe. Sort of. I kind of always do, just…”

“We don’t want you to feel like we’re stifling you, loverling, even when we want to wrap you in cotton.” Natasha nudged him. “And talking about somebody in your family leaking intel – intentionally or not – makes us want to stuff you in a padded room, far away from the rest of the world, where we can be sure no one will ever raise a hand against you.”

“You do realize I can protect myself?” he asked mildly. “I didn’t become a handler riding a desk – and I didn’t get a Purple Heart commanding Rangers from a bunker. I may not be Chosen but –”

“No.” It was so unusual for Clint to interrupt him that Phil instantly stopped speaking. “It’s got nothing to do with you being Chosen or not, or us thinking you can’t protect yourself, or… that’s not it, Moonbeam.”

When Clint didn’t continue, Phil squeezed his calf gently. Clint looked helplessly at Natasha. She closed her eyes briefly before taking over the explanation, her voice low. “There have been very few people I care deeply about,” she began, and had to pause for a deep breath. “Very few. And… I couldn’t keep them safe. Clint too. We’re both… Great Goddess, Phil, I love you both more than I ever thought possible and anything I can do to keep you safe and alive, I’ll do it – no matter how inane or ridiculous, no matter if it makes you sigh or scowl or yell.”

“Okay.”

Clint stared at him. “Okay? Just… okay?”

Phil levered himself up off the floor and kissed Clint tenderly. He turned to Natasha and did the same. “Okay. I can handle kid gloves. I’d be happier if you could set them aside and trust me to keep out of trouble but…” He shrugged. “I get it. The fears of a lifetime don’t get erased in a year of marriage. I have issues of my own, and if I expect a pass on them, I should extend you the same courtesy.” Unable to resist, he leaned over to press another kiss to Clint’s lips. “You’re right. My back would prefer I sit in a passenger seat, and this flight’s long enough that I should listen. Will you two be alright if I take Catriona back and get a nap?” They nodded silently. He kissed each of them once more before scooping the sleeping druid into his arms – her only reaction was to cuddle closer – and making himself comfortable on one of the leather couches in the passenger compartment. 

~ * ~


	17. Chapter 17

Landing in Wisconsin wasn’t as simple as it had been in Ireland.

Both Catriona and Cormac had plots of land large enough – and were influential enough – to dispense with air traffic control protocols. Now that he thought about it, Clint realized they hadn’t been contacted by any Irish officials while in their airspace, and wondered if that was mama mojo, or political savvy.

Regardless, it wasn’t so easy here. The Rainbow Inn didn’t have a large enough flat area for him to land the Stark aircraft, even though it didn’t need much of a runway – and even if they had, there was no way he’d be able to land without notice from the authorities. So Phil had pulled SHIELD strings and gotten permission to land at a private airstrip about an hour from the Inn, where a family member would pick them up.

Phil had texted his mother as soon as he’d settled onto the leather couch in the passenger compartment. He’d waited for her acknowledgement before snagging a plush throw from the back of the couch and tucking Catriona in for a nap. He hadn’t intended to sleep as well, but a lapful of sleeping sister was remarkably soporific.

“Rise and shine, loverling,” Natasha murmured to him. She kissed his forehead. “We’ll be landing soon.”

A smile stretched across his face before he’d opened his eyes. “Hello to you too.” He stretched, jostling Catriona. “Wake up, little one.”

The redhead stirred fitfully, rubbing her nose against Phil’s chest. “No.” It was muffled in the cloth of his shirt, but her petulant tone was clear.

He laughed and sat up slowly, shifting her as he did so until she was sitting next to him on the couch instead of draped over him. “I promise, you can sleep once you get to the Inn, but I’d feel better if you were conscious long enough to reassure my parents that you’re here voluntarily.”

She yawned, rubbing at her eyes. Natasha laughed and slid her arm around the druid’s slender shoulders. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy, deirfiur.”

“She’s always adorable,” Phil corrected. He stood and stretched before stepping into the cockpit. “You good, pretty bird?”

Clint tilted his head up for a kiss, which Phil administered. “Yup. I could use some coffee and I wouldn’t turn down some of your mom’s cooking, but all’s well.” He smiled. “Nat kept me company—you two needed the sleep.”

“I don’t know why I would need it more than you.”

“Mama mojo,” Clint said sagely. “Catriona was running the show and probably got more juice run through her circuit, but Nat and I are wired for it. You aren’t… or at least, not the same voltage.”

Phil brushed another kiss over his forehead. “Been watching the Discovery Channel again?”

“I’ll take tired metaphors for a thousand, Alex.” The response was pure cheeky impishness, but the hand that stroked Phil’s face was tender.

They landed – Clint feeling pardonable pride at the neat parking job – and disembarked onto the tarmac. Clint patted the aircraft affectionately. “I like this one.”

“Good.” Phil flashed him a smile. “Does that mean it was worth the sexual favors I promised him?”

“Very funny.” Natasha poked him sharply in the side. “Don’t joke about Stark sex.”

“Oh, I think we should joke about Stark sex,” Phil disagreed. His eyes were twinkling merrily. “I’d like to be able to report to him, in all honesty, that his sex life is amusing.”

Clint’s laughter doubled him over, until he was wheezing and unable to speak. His laughter was contagious, and all four of them were chuckling by the time a maroon mini-van pulled up to them. The driver’s window rolled down and Sarah peered out at them. “You guys alright?”

“Park the car and give us a hug,” Phil ordered. Sarah had shifted the vehicle obediently into park before glaring at him. “Oh, come on.” He held out his arms and she caved, sliding down from the seat to wrap both arms around him tightly. “Goddess, I missed you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” She squeezed him one more time before turning to his spouses. “Hugs all around.” Clint and Natasha hugged her in tandem as Catriona hung back. Releasing Natasha, Sarah opened her arms at the druid and gestured beckoningly. “You too. The only reason there aren’t two girls in the van with me to immediately glom on to their Aunt Catriona is that I needed room for luggage.”

Catriona’s smile lit her eyes before she accepted a hug from Sarah. “I look forward to seeing them again. You have lovely daughters.”

“Yes, I do,” Sarah agreed cheerfully. “C’mon, Dad’s got a casserole in the oven, and Mom baked today.” She picked up one of the bags, opened the rear hatch of the minivan and then stood back as it was efficiently filled. She added the bag she held to the top of a pile. “Right. You know, I forget sometimes that you guys are military. Or whatever you want to call trained personnel with a gun,” she corrected, when she saw Phil’s mouth open. “So, Nat… is he this efficient in the bedroom?” Sarah waggled her eyebrows comically as she shut the hatch.

“Do you really want to know?” Natasha countered. Sarah’s flush was answer enough. “Who sits where?”

Phil regarded the van thoughtfully. All four of them wouldn’t fit in any single row, and he didn’t think he was alone in wanting to maintain contact with someone. “Sarah, you OK with the passenger seat empty?”

“Yeah…?”

“Catriona, why don’t you and Nat sit in the middle, and I’ll sit in the back with Clint.”

No sooner had he made the suggestion than they were buckling into seatbelts. Clint relaxed against him with a sigh. “Nice to let someone else drive for a bit,” he murmured. “I like to fly, but…”

“But you need some downtime,” Phil agreed. He twined their fingers together. “You alright there, little one?”

Catriona nodded, head pillowed on Natasha’s lap. She’d barely sat down before sinking back towards sleep. Natasha stroked a fond hand through her hair. “She’s fine, dearling,” Natasha reassured, flashing a smile over her shoulder at him.

“So… now that everyone’s buckled in…” Sarah pointed the van towards the Inn and began the drive home. “I’m reminding you now that Meg and Derek are in town this year. Last chance to get back on the plane.”

“I knew that when I planned the trip,” Phil assured her. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Not after dealing with – what did you call him, pretty bird? Frowning Fergus?”

Clint snickered. “Yeah.” He met Sarah’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, and gave her a lopsided grin. “He makes Derek look open and welcoming.” He caught Sarah’s answering smile in the reflection, and was distracted by pondering if it was motherhood that made you able to do that – make eye contact with anybody in a vehicle, no matter where they are – or if the skill to do that made somebody a good parent.

He still hadn’t answered the chicken-and-the-egg question about eye contact when he realized his eyes were closed. It was warm in the van, with Phil’s thigh pressing against his own. He could taste the contentment in Natasha’s mind, and hear the small drowsy noises Catriona made.

“We’ll need to be quiet when we get in,” Sarah told her brother, voice pitched low to avoid disturbing Catriona, Natasha and Clint. “We’ve still got guests. The last pair isn’t set to check out until morning… which would have been before you’d arrived, if you’d stuck to the timeline.” She raised an eyebrow, flicking her eyes to his reflection briefly.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to be here sooner,” Phil said softly. “I am sorry to inconvenience you tonight – I know you weren’t planning on driving out here to get us.”

She made a derisive noise. “Bullshit bureaucrat apology, Phil. Take it back.” He chuckled softly. “You know I like to be the first one you see,” she added, her tone quieter. “Just… have a minute, before it goes crazy.”

“I love you too, Sarah-bear.”

Natasha’s eyebrows leapt. “You didn’t call her that last year.”

“He saves it for special occasions.” Sarah was trying to pretend otherwise, but she was a bit choked up. Phil hadn’t called her that since he’d kissed her cheek before she walked down the aisle to marry Iris.

“Used to save it.” Phil tightened his hand on Clint’s. “Imagine my surprise to discover that words don’t actually lose meaning, if you say them more often.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Phil?” Sarah joked – or tried to joke.

“If you’re going to cry, you need to pull over,” Phil said gently. She wiped her eyes irritably but didn’t stop the van. “This shouldn’t be a surprise to you. It’s not like we haven’t talked since last year.”

Clint elbowed him gently. “You gotta admit, MB, you’re softer today than you are in DC.”

He mulled that over before nodding. “Alright. Yes, I’m still feeling… loose… after the Yule ceremony. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m trying – have been trying – to be less Agent Coulson when I’m with my family.”

“Other than ordering her out of the car like one of the teaglach?” Natasha asked dryly.

“One of the what?”

Phil sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I thought we’d avoided the ‘what’ questions this year.”

Clint’s eyebrows furrowed. “Headache?”

“It’ll pass.”

Catriona peered at them over the edge of the seat. She’d sat up the instant Clint asked about a headache and was now glaring at Phil. “Really, treorai. Are we going to do this every time you have a headache?” She reached into her sleeve for a teabag, then frowned. “I need a cup.”

“Empty travel mug OK?” Sarah asked, pointing at her own in the cupholder. “Had tea, on the way to the airport.”

“It will do.” Catriona reached for it, sniffed delicately, then stirred her finger in the empty confines. By the time she passed it to Phil, it was full of hot water and the teabag she’d selected. “Drink that, please.”

Phil complied without argument. Aside from wanting to be rid of the headache – and he hadn’t realized how persistent it had become, or he might have mentioned it sooner – he knew better than to argue with her when she used her Healer voice.

“Um.” Sarah cleared her throat. “You know I’ve got to ask about that, right? Like, the pixie just did magic in my minivan. In my coffee cup. I can’t not ask.”

Catriona blew out a breath. “I am not a pixie.”

“You are,” Natasha and Clint chorused. Phil chuckled.

“The tea thing is… a druid thing,” Clint explained vaguely. “It’s just making hot water. Instant tea, wherever and whenever needed. Like a druidic EpiPen.”

“I’ll explain teaglach to everyone – or almost everyone – when we get home, Sarah,” Phil promised. “I’d rather not explain it a dozen times.”

~ * ~


	18. Chapter 18

Quiet and unobtrusive might be one of Phil’s natural states, but it didn’t appear to be a Coulson trait. Phil managed to herd his spouses and Catriona into the large kitchen, hushing them in deference to the paying guests, but there was no silencing the identical squeals of delight when Rose and Lily entered the kitchen. Rose immediately wrapped her arms around Natasha, and Lily did the same to Catriona.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” Rose chanted in Natasha’s ear. Natasha grinned and held the girl close. Lily was just as fervently hugging Catriona, though she was doing so quietly.

“I see how it is,” Clint remarked to Phil. “I mean, I know they’re prettier than us, but…”

Laughing, Diane pulled Clint in for a brief hug, releasing him before he could tense up and embracing her son. “They’ve been excited for days.” She squeezed Phil tightly.

“They aren’t the only ones.” Phil kissed his mother’s cheek and smiled at his nieces. He heard his father return. He’d been dispatched to carry their baggage upstairs, and all of them knew the futility of arguing hospitality rules with Diane Coulson.

“It’s good to see you, son,” Alex said, and to Clint’s absolute and utter shock, it wasn’t Phil that the Coulson patriarch embraced at that – it was Clint.

He stood rigid in the hug, eyes wide. Alex didn’t linger – he wasn’t oblivious to Clint’s reaction – but even after he’d stepped to Phil to repeat the embrace, Clint didn’t move. He’d been confronted with the vastness of the universe, challenged assumptions about his skills, confronted emotional turmoil – just today – and none of it rocked him like being called ‘son.’

The last time he’d been called that, he’d been bleeding on the floor, clutching his busted arm, cowering at the feet of the father that had broken it.

Natasha extracted herself from Rose and cupped both hands around Clint’s face. {It’s okay, dearling,} she reassured him silently. {Alex didn’t mean any harm. You’re safe. You’re here with us, you’re safe.}

“Do we need to step outside?” Phil asked, stepping close to slide his arm around Clint’s waist. The archer didn’t respond.

Alex kept his distance, but his concerned gaze was on his son-in-law. “What can we do?”

Clint’s gaze fell on Alex, his eyes focusing at least a little on Phil’s father. {Oh fuck, I’m going to lose it, Sunshine.} He managed to get the words out telepathically, not even trying to force them out verbally. It had been years since he’d had what Laura called ‘an episode’ and Barney called ‘a fucking psychotic fit’ but he was on the cusp of one now. The darkness at the edge of his sight threatened to engulf him, and the high-pitched thrumming in his head was gaining momentum.

“Outside,” Phil ordered. This time, it wasn’t a question. He gestured with his free arm for a pathway to the door to be cleared and used the other to support Clint’s jerky steps.

“I can’t,” Clint managed to say, tripping.

“We’ve got you,” Natasha reassured him. She glanced back over her shoulder at Catriona. “Explain for us, would you please?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Natasha closed the door behind her, leaving the Coulsons – and Catriona – in the kitchen.

Alex cleared his throat. “What did I say?”

Catriona’s gaze shifted to him. Lily was still wrapped around her, and she cupped one hand around the blonde head, stroking automatically. Rose joined her twin, her eyes on the closed door to the garden. “Master Coulson, it was your words which triggered Clint’s reaction, but it is not your fault.”

“Call me Alex, please.” He extended his hand to his wife, who took it. Sarah and Iris had gravitated together as well. “It was the son thing, wasn’t it?”

The druid nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Rose’s temple. The girl was trembling, and trying to hide it. “Laoch beag – Misty – teases that familial terms make us break out in hives, and she is not far wrong.” And right now, Catriona desperately wished that Misty was here, for the grasshopper had ways of explaining situations in uncomplicated terms that somehow removed any shame from them.

“Misty,” Iris repeated. “Phil’s mentioned her. His protege, right?”

“Yes.” Catriona’s smile was automatic. She saw the tactic for what it was – an opportunity to change the subject – and appreciated it. “I will speak of her later, but I wish to speak of Boghdoir’s – Clint’s – distress first.” She paused, pressing a kiss this time to Lily’s temple. The twins’ warm, trusting embraces were a welcome balm.

“Is he still alive?” Alex asked. His voice was almost harsh.

“Who?” Catriona’s brow furrowed.

“The one who hurt him.”

She tilted her head, looking up at him and debating her reply. “No,” she answered finally. “That man is no longer alive.”

“His father?” Diane asked softly. Catriona nodded. “Can you – is it something we should know?”

“No.”

The answer surprised everyone, considering it came not from Catriona, but from Rose. The girl was glaring at her grandmother, righteous fury in a tiny package. 

Catriona tightened the arm she has around the girl. “What makes you say so, Rosalie?”

“The only person who should tell us Clint’s story is Clint,” she said firmly – quite firmly. “And if he doesn’t want to tell us, he doesn’t have to. If you tell us, it’s gossip, and that isn’t nice.”

“Natasha asked me to explain,” Catriona reminded her.

“It’s not her story either,” Rose insisted.

Closing her eyes, Catriona reached out for Gaia. {Mother, I am in need of guidance. Which is the wisest course? Do I speak of Boghdoir’s past for him, or leave the speaking of words to him? If I must speak of it, how will I reconcile this for the young lass?}

\\\Rosalie. Lilabeth.// In answer to Catriona’s question, Gaia spoke directly to the twins, and included Her Priestess in the conversation. Both twins jolted, eyes going wide, at the touch of the Goddess in their minds. \\\Be at ease, younglings. I am well pleased with thee. It is to your credit that you stand so firmly to guard my archer, as you do for others. In this one instance, I ask that you allow my druid to speak for my archer, as to relate it himself would cause him great pain. He wishes this to be known, but cannot convey it himself. Will you abide by my wishes?//

“Yes, Gaia,” Rosalie said aloud. Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. The Goddess’s touch faded and left the twins clutching Catriona tighter.

The druid brushed more kisses against the foreheads. “I did not expect Her to speak to you directly. I apologize if She startled you.” She shifted her gaze to Sarah and Iris. “Your daughters are most remarkable individuals, to draw Her notice. Do not be alarmed, for it is not to place a burden upon them, that She speaks – it is to ask of them a boon.”

“She wants us to let Catriona tell Clint’s story,” Lily told her mothers. “She asked nicely. It’s okay.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to hear it,” Rose confessed. Her eyes were downcast. “Can I be excused?”

“Of course,” Sarah said immediately. “Do you want to go out to your uncles and aunt? If that’s okay, Catriona?”

Catriona nodded. “Mother – the Goddess – indicates that the younglings would be welcome. Either or both of you,” she added, squeezing the girls. “If you wish to speak of it later, you need only ask.” Rose released the druid and offered her hand to Lily. After a moment, Lily shook her head. Rose exited alone. “I suppose you have guessed the largest portion of the story – that Clint’s father was abusive.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed. She pulled Iris closer. “Figured that part out.”

“His brother Barney…” Catriona trailed off, looking at Lily.

“It’s okay,” the girl told her quietly. “You can be blunt. I can take it.”

“Someday, when I have children,” Catriona murmured to her, “I hope that they are very much like you.” Lily blushed. “Clint’s brother Barney did not defend him. Barney is older and he… Clint will not tell me if Barney participated in the beatings, only that he never stopped them.”

Iris nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” Alex and Diane looked at her in surprise. “He still has contact with his brother, so he doesn’t actively hold it against him – but he’s uncomfortable with him, and doesn’t like being considered a sibling by anyone but Catriona. I’d guess he’d be alright with sisters, but not brothers?” She directed that question at the druid, who nodded. “What happened to his father? And where was his mother?”

“From what I gather, his mother was just… present. He has never indicated that she was either fellow victim or further perpetrator. I believe she was a nurturing individual, at least in his memory – he refers to the Goddess as ‘Mama’ and appears to have positive relationships with several maternal figures.” Catriona would have avoided the question of Clint’s father, but knew this family would not let it drop. “Both his parents were killed in an accident when Clint was about Lily’s age. He and Barney spent a year or two in care of the state before running away to the circus.”

Alex’s eyebrow lifted. “The circus? An actual entertainment carnival, not a figure of speech?”

“Dad.” Sarah sighed.

Catriona smiled sadly. “I am not offended by his incredulity, Sarah. It is an unlikely story. Clint was known as ‘The Amazing Hawkeye’ when he performed. It was from there that he was recruited into paramilitary, and then SHIELD service. And that… is as much of Clint’s story as I am willing to tell.”

“How can we help?” Diane still looked distressed at Clint’s history, but was obviously trying to make a plan of action.

“I don’t know that we can, directly,” Iris said into the quiet. “Not like we can go back and change it – can’t hunt down his father and arrest him. And if it could be done, Phil would have already. I think the best we can do is to treat him as normally as possible, and understand if he needs some space about fathers and brothers.”

“I begin to see why you are Phil’s favorite in-law,” Catriona told Iris, who grinned. “You are correct. He would not thank you for modifying your behavior greatly as a result of this knowledge… but he does not wish you to be distressed when he reacts differently than you expect.”

Lily snorted. “Not distressed.” She flicked her eyes at her mothers before continuing, “Really pissed off that someone hurt him, and really wishing I could beat up his brother.”

“You get a pass on the language, young lady, because I agree with you,” Sarah said, trying to sound stern. “Just don’t use it in public.”

“I’ve got stronger language I’d like to use,” Diane murmured. Catriona flashed her a smile. Phil’s mother shook herself, and with great effort put a normal, everyday expression on her face. “Well. I think I’ll put dinner on the table.”

~ * ~

Awareness returned to Clint gradually. It was like watching the lights come on in a long-unused warehouse; some flickered a few times before lighting, others came on with no difficulty. His hearing was the first external sense to return, but it didn’t offer much explanation.

Physical sensation was next. He was on his side, somewhere cold… outdoors? His left was pressed against the cold. His back was warm, something warm and solid pressed against him… Phil, his mind supplied. That meant that the warmth in front of him was Natasha. There was an extra presence, though, that he couldn’t identify… Catriona, maybe? His feet seemed to be slightly elevated, maybe in a lap? There was a small hand on his ankle.

Curious, he tried to force his eyes open, succeeding only in blinking. “Whosat?” he mumbled.

“Back with us?” Phil asked, pressing a kiss to the back of Clint’s neck.

“Sorta.” He twitched his feet. “Sis?”

“It’s Rose,” the warmth at his feet said. Oh. That was different. Why was one flower girl here and not the other? They traveled in pairs. Where was here, for that matter?

\\\You are in the kitchen garden of the Rainbow Inn, boghdoir,// Gaia told him gently. \\\You are on the ground between your achroi ghra, and your niece is at your feet.//

Realization flooded Clint, and brought with it shame. “Fuck.”

“None of that,” Phil chided, kissing him again.

Rose pinched one of his toes – bare toes, he realized. “You’re not supposed to swear in front of me, Uncle Clint.”

Oddly enough, it was the girl’s gentle reprimand that helped pull Clint out of his panic. It meant he hadn’t scared her or disgusted her, and the fact that she was out here meant he hadn’t upset her mothers, either.

The warmth in front of him – Natasha – moved away and he felt her hands reach for him. “Ready to sit up, dearling?”

He wasn’t, really, but he obeyed the urging in her mind. He felt Phil support him as unobtrusively as possible. “How long?” he managed to ask.

Phil glanced at his watch. “Less than twenty minutes. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

Clint scrubbed at his face, still feeling groggy. “Did I hurt anybody?”

“No,” Rose snorted. She climbed into his lap as soon as he’d crossed his legs under him. Natasha tried to shoo her away, but Rose gave her a fierce stare and looped her arms around Clint’s neck. “Why would you think you’d hurt someone? That’s stupid.”

“Rose…” Phil began, a warning in his tone.

“I used to hurt people, when I had a… fit,” Clint told her. It was easier to answer the girl’s questions than to look up at his spouses. He knew he’d find identical expressions of protective concern, and it was too much right now.

The blonde twin shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You could barely walk, Uncle Clint. The only way you’d hurt someone is by falling on them.”

He blinked. “But Barney said…”

Noises erupted from his spouses, but they weren’t ones he recognized immediately. He was familiar with the sweep of the elbow Phil did – when he was in his suit, that was the gesture he used to move the suit coat away from his holster so he could draw his pistol. Natasha’s hand was on the hilt of one of her hidden blades, her face in utter stillness. The noises began to filter in to his waking mind, and – yes, Phil was growling. Natasha was swearing in another language – not one of them he shared, although he thought she was bouncing around because that phrase was definitely Russian, and… was that Gaelic?

“I think he lied,” Rose said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her instinctively.

Clint’s confused gaze met Natasha’s, bounced to Phil’s. “Why?” He felt Rose tense. “Not why do you think that, Rosie – why would he lie?”

“I suppose you want a better answer than because he’s a miserably, slimy fuckwad who wouldn’t know compassion if it rose up and bit him in the ass,” Natasha snarled. She held up a hand. “Sorry. That was out of line.”

“I don’t have any better explanation,” Phil admitted. He forced himself to move his hand away from the holster he wasn’t wearing and reached for Natasha. She was brittle in his arms, still full of incandescent fury.

“You really think I didn’t…” Clint wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask. His arms tightened around Rose, but his eyes were on his spouses.

Together, Phil and Natasha tugged Clint and Rose into contact with them – Natasha wrapping around his right and Phil his left. “I think I would need compelling evidence to believe you’d hurt anyone in a fugue,” Phil said finally, once he had his husband tight against him. “You certainly didn’t give any indication of it today, and the reports from Manila – ” he bit off his words, but not before Clint’s sharp intake of breath.

“You knew?” Clint asked as neutrally as he could. He remembered the fit in Manila – six years ago, the most recent prior to today. It had been on a mission for another handler, one Phil had lent him to. Come to think of it, it’d had been his last loaned-out mission.

“Yes.”

Clint twisted to look at Phil’s expression – tight, but not angry. “Phil?”

Phil pressed a kiss to Clint’s temple. “You weren’t my husband yet, but you were still mine. I got a report afterwards and I… had words with that handler.” Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “I won’t repeat it in front of Rose.”

“Dang,” the girl muttered. “I thought you’d forgotten me, and I’d get to learn more grown-up words.”

Natasha chuckled. If the girl had intended to lighten the mood – and knowing Rose, she wouldn’t be surprised – it worked. Natasha kissed first Rose’s forehead and then Clint’s. “I knew too, even before you were Chosen. Not from Phil – somebody who’d been on the mission decided I should know. For my own safety,” she spat. “Idiot.”

“Um.” Clint wasn’t sure how to handle their indignation. If he’d been the handler, or the fellow agent, he’d have done more than write a report. Hell, if he’d seen one of the Scoobies have a psychotic fit – 

{It’s not a damned psychotic fit,} Natasha’s mental voice interrupted him. {It’s not a fit at all. It’s… well, I could give you the psychobabble but think of it like a panic attack on steroids – and we didn’t bench CJ for his, so why would we bench you for yours?}

{This is a little more than snarling at my coworkers and stomping home, Sunshine.} Natasha might have pushed the issue – she might still – but was interrupted by her stomach growling. She looked down at it in shock, and heard an answering grumble from Clint. 

“Food,” Phil decided. He levered himself into a standing position, brushed snow off his jeans, and reached his hands down. Rose took one and Clint the other. Eventually all four were standing. Clint had started to shiver – an unusual reaction for him, even in the snow – and Phil tugged him close to wrap an arm around his waist. “Sarah said there was casserole and baking.”

“Just like that?” Clint asked.

Rose elbowed him – gently. “No. Grandma will make you beg on the floor, and Papa will hit your nose with a newspaper.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Of course just like that, doofus. You got upset, so Grandma will feed you. That’s how it works.” She paused. “I bet Aunt Catriona will make you tea, too.”

~ * ~


	19. Chapter 19

Clint didn’t really want to go back into the kitchen. He didn’t want to see disgust or pity on their faces. He didn’t think he could take sympathy, either.

Natasha squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. {You’re not going in there alone.}

Right. He was still out of it enough to have forgotten she could hear his mental maneuvering. {I know. I just… this is… } He gave up trying to find words and just shoved feeling at her – embarrassment, shame, fear, disgust, longing, uncertainty – the whole gamut.

Phil pushed open the door and Rose stepped in first, tugging Clint behind her. He followed the girl, with Natasha and Phil behind him, and tensed waiting for the recriminations to start. 

Except they didn’t.

“Tea, dhearthair?” Catriona offered from the table. She’d been seated at the foot of the table, a teapot and selection of mugs in front of her. She’d pulled her feet up under her, and Lily had pushed her own chair close so that she could nestle into her aunt much like Rose had latched on to Clint.

“Told you so,” Rose said promptly.

“Rosalie!” Sarah barked.

Clint waved it off, feeling a shaky grin form. “It’s okay. She did tell me so. Yeah, sis.” He turned the smile on Catriona. “Tea would be good.” He walked carefully to her other side and took the purple mug she offered him. “You have a tea for every occasion, don’t you? Does this blend have a clever name too?”

She returned his smile. “Not yet. It’s a new blend.” She looked down into her own mug. “I wanted something just for the clan.”

He sat – because he was still too shaky to do much else – and reached out to grasp her hand. “If you made it with Nat in mind, it’d better have raspberry in it,” he said gravely.

“It does.” Her smile widened. She’d included both dried berries and their leaves. The berries would provide taste. The leaves had been used by healers the world over for various women’s issues, including fertility and pregnancy – she didn’t think it prudent to mention that, yet. She hoped, someday, for Natasha to drink it as part of her prenatal supplements.

“Ooo, really?” Natasha’s expression cleared almost immediately at the mention of raspberries, and she eyed the tea with interest.

Phil laughed and nudged her towards the table. “You eat enough of them, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what keeps your hair red.”

“Don’t be silly,” she retorted, attention on the mug Catriona handed her. She sank into the chair on Clint’s other side and sipped. “It tastes like your garden.”

“It does,” Clint agreed. “How did you get the taste of sunshine in a cup?” Natasha’s lips quirked. “Not you. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”

“It’s comfortable there.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Mom, you need help with dinner?”

“No, dear.” Diane carried a pan of casserole to the table and placed it on several trivets. Behind her, his sister and sister-in-law added fresh rolls and a salad before seating themselves. “There’s pie for dessert, also – pecan.” She raised an eyebrow at Natasha. “I take it I should invest in some raspberry bushes?”

“Only if you’re content to never get her out of your garden,” Catriona replied before Natasha could answer. Natasha stuck her tongue out in response.

Diane smiled. “I’d be alright with that.” She gestured vaguely, and Phil handed her Catriona’s plate. She dished a portion out, added salad and a roll, and handed the plate back to Phil. He traded it for Clint’s, watching her silently. He knew – as did his father and sister – that she only insisted on doling out every serving of every dish when she was upset. It was her way of seizing control of a situation. Rose had been right, in the garden – food was Diane Coulson’s way of confronting almost every kind of emotional turmoil. Phil couldn’t count the times her advice would begin with ‘Let me fix you something to eat.’ Perhaps that was why Catriona’s frequent application of tea never surprised him.

Catriona was waiting to take a bite until everyone had been served – as was proper etiquette – but Diane fixed her with a maternal glare. “Ah… we don’t wait?” Catriona asked hesitantly.

“If we stood on ceremony at this table, we’d all starve,” Alex told her cheerfully. “Eat up. Let me know how you like it.”

The druid obediently took a bite, blinked, and took another. “I see that you inherited your cooking ability from both sides, treorai.”

Alex grinned. “I’m not as demure as Phil, you can compliment me directly.” He winked at the druid. “I know my son is terribly shy about being praised…”

“Oh, hush, Dad,” Phil said without any rancor. “I’m not demure.”

Natasha snickered. “Right. That’s why in Misty’s Dojo Lecture, she told all the Scoobies not to praise your food directly, because you’d brush it off, and that would piss us off.”

Clint snickered. “Who told you?”

“Sam.” They exchanged a fond smile.

“Can I ask about these ‘Scoobies’ now?” Sarah took a bite of her salad, eyes sliding sideways down to her brother. “Or do we need alcohol for that?”

“No lubrication necessary for them,” Phil assured her. “Where do I start?”

“You start by eating,” Clint told him, stabbing his fork in the direction of Phil’s plate. “You haven’t eaten since we left Cormac’s, and you nibbled. Eat.” The assembled Coulsons exchanged amused glances, but Phil complied without argument. “The Scoobies – and Maria – are the rest of our clan. Family, I guess. I mean, there’s some druid hoodoo involved in making it a clan, but basically… the nine of them are our family.” Clint took a bite of the dinner roll and his eyes widened. {You take over, Nat, because this roll deserves my full attention.}

Laughing, Natasha set her fork down. “Your baking has done the impossible, Diane – Clint’s stopped talking to focus on it.” Clint rolled his eyes but didn’t speak. “The Scoobies are an eight-man squad of SHIELD agents. We were training them, but hadn’t really gotten close to them when we were here last year. They’re… ours. Hard to describe it otherwise. Phil hand-picked almost all of them, and we’ve put a lot of time into them… but they stopped being trainees a while ago.”

“When?” Iris prompted, when Natasha trailed off.

“March, for Misty,” Phil said. “June for the rest of them. I don’t think the clan binding was until this month, although that’s a little more nebulous.” He raised an eyebrow at Catriona, who shrugged. “Clint and I talked to two of the other druids—”

“There are more of you?” Alex burst out.

Catriona’s lips twitched. For a moment Phil was afraid she was offended, but an expression grew in her eyes that looked entirely like one of Clint’s. “I am, I fear, a singular entity, Master Coulson,” she said sweetly. The triad blinked and looked at her warily. Clint started to chuckle, recognizing the impish glint. “However, there are ten other druids that serve Gaia, each with their own specialties. It would be… entertaining… to see you converse with Professor O’Finnegan.”

The image of stuffy Frowning Fergus confronted with a man who blurt out whatever he was thinking made Clint laugh in delight, and continue laughing until there were tears in the corners of his eyes. “Oh please. Oh, if that ever happens I want video.”

Phil grinned at his husband. “You know what would be even better? I want to see him face off against the flower girls.” Clint’s giggles redoubled, and he reached helplessly for Rose’s hand.

“Why is that so funny?” Rose asked, letting Clint tug at her.

“The Professor is…” Catriona began, then the devilish glint flashed again. “Who was it you compared him to, dhearthair? That fictional character, Professor Snipe?”

“Snape,” Phil corrected automatically. “Although Snipe isn’t far off.”

“Really?” Lily looked between Catriona and her Papa, and then then light went on in her eyes too. She covered her mouth to try and contain the giggles, but they kept building.

Alex grinned with good humor. “So you don’t think I’m a match for your Professor? Bit of a sharp tongue, has he?”

“Fergus – the Professor – uses his sharp tongue with as much skill as Natasha uses her blades,” Catriona agreed ruefully.

Natasha sniffed derisively. “I’m better.”

“Of course you are, love,” Phil agreed immediately.

Diane laughed. It was such a delight to see Phil relaxed and in love. In just a year, she could see how much they’d matured into each other – more relaxed but more firm, in an odd way. It showed in the way they’d immediately supported Clint – and in the way that he leaned on them, knowing they’d be there. She met her husband’s eyes. To see all of her children find their loves at last…

“You’ve mentioned Sam and Misty – who are the other Scoobies? And Maria,” Iris added. “And why isn’t Maria a Scooby, whoever she is?”

“The Scoobies are a set squad – they get called the Scooby Squad by pretty much all of SHIELD,” Clint supplied. He’d finished the roll and moved on to the salad – which, while good, didn’t require his undivided attention. “Eight man squad – okay, five men and three women, I saw that glare Phil – and Maria isn’t one of them. She actually outranks us – me and Natasha, anyway. You rank her, Mo—love?”

Phil sighed with exaggerated patience. “You can use it here, too, if you really want to.”

“Seriously?” Clint gaped at him. 

“I let you use it in front of two strangers, I figure I can bear it in front of people I love.” Phil smiled crookedly at him. “Still off-limits outside the family. And to answer you – yes, I outrank Maria. Barely. Generally speaking, she has seniority administratively and I have it with regards to field agents.”

“Treorai is the Director’s right hand, and laoch scail – Maria – is his left,” Catriona added.

Rose’s eyebrows furrowed. “You have a funny name for each of them? Like alanna?”

“Aye. Gaelic is my native tongue, and the language with which I name them,” the druid agreed. “Each of Her Druids and Warriors has a name in Gaelic, as do each of our clan. I apologize for using them without explaining them. I do not always realize that I am doing it.”

“Do we have Gaelic names?” Lily asked.

Catriona exchanged eloquent looks with the triad. “Not as of yet,” she temporized. “You may, in the future.”

~ * ~


	20. Chapter 20

Hoping to prevent two girls from wondering and their two mothers from worrying, Clint continued to chatter about their clanmates. “The Scoobies are Misty – we mentioned her, she’s Phil’s protege – Sam, CJ, Angie, Chuck, Lance, Raj, and Al. I guess CJ’s my protege, right Moonbeam?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Phil. “He’s the sniper.”

“He’s yours,” Phil agreed. Not long ago, Clint using that nickname in front of people made Phil feel physical discomfort – now he was just warmly amused. “And Sam would be yours, love?”

Natasha wrinkled her nose. “They’re all mine.” Catriona chuckled. “I’m serious. I don’t have just one – I need them all to learn my skill set.”

With his nerves still raw, Clint couldn’t stifle the sharp intake of breath at the images in Natasha’s mind. Fragments of nightmares flickered past – Misty bleeding out from a gunshot, Chuck being garroted, an entrance wound appearing in Lance’s forehead – 

The film reel of images stopped abruptly. Natasha put down her dinner roll, her hands trembling. “I didn’t mean you to see that,” she murmured. “I thought I had it under control.”

Clint reached for her hand, squeezing it in his own tightly. Phil rose from his seat across the table and rounded the end, trailing a hand through Catriona’s hair on his way to his spouses. He knelt between their chairs, sliding one arm around each waist. He didn’t speak, just leaned into his spouses. Between the ritual, visiting Cormac, the flight, Clint’s ‘fit’ – even his resources were running thin. 

“You okay?” Sarah asked.

“We will be.” Catriona answered for all four of them, smiling – though that was more sadness than joy in it. “It has been a very emotional day.” Lily, who had released the druid to pay attention to her dinner, wormed her way back under Catriona’s arm. Catriona kissed the girl’s forehead.

“Sorry,” Natasha apologized when she could pull her focus away from her husbands.

Diane reached over and lightly slapped the back of Natasha’s head. “No apologizing for what was done to you.” 

Clint gaped at his mother-in-law. “Did you just – did she just – was that a Gibbs slap?”

“Wait until I tell Angie,” Natasha muttered. She lifted a hand to her hair to flatten it, grinning. “Alright. Did you get that from Phil, or did he get it from you? I thought it was a Clint saying, but…”

“From me.” Alex crossed one leg over his lap, propping his ankle on his knee, and leaned back. “Though I didn’t originate it. Picked it up at SHIELD when I was an agent. It was one of the Director’s favorites.”

“Maggie?” Catriona asked, startled. “Beg pardon. You would know her as Peggy Carter.”

Alex grinned. “I didn’t know you knew Director Carter. Yeah, she ran the agency when I was an agent. I didn’t work directly for her, mind. I was never as highly placed as my Phil.”

“You’ve been Cartering us this whole time and didn’t fess up?” Clint poked a finger at Phil’s midsection. “That’s almost as bad as Rogersing us, Moonbeam.”

“Be nice,” Catriona chided automatically, and the triad chuckled. “Why ever is that humorous?”

Phil stood up – his knees didn’t appreciate kneeling on the dining room floor – but stayed between his spouses rather than returning to his seat at the table. “Never noticed how often you say ‘be nice’?”

“As often as I do?” Diane asked dryly.

“More,” Phil said, winking at his mother. “And she says it to druids two millennia old. As good as you are, Mom, I don’t think your Mom-voice works on two-thousand-year-old men.”

Catriona’s lips pursed. “It is not a Mom-voice.”

“Sounded like one to me,” Rose muttered.

Lily elbowed her, catching her twin’s eyes and glaring. She’d felt the druid tense, and sensed the changes in her aura that heralded distress. She didn’t think about her ability to see people’s emotions often – didn’t think of herself by the term ‘empath’ that Catriona had used – but she did use that rainbow of colors freely. “Not Mom-voice,” Lily said softly. She didn’t raise her voice to reach the rest of the family – didn’t honestly care if anyone but Catriona heard her. “Teacher voice.” The druid curled her arm more tightly around Lily, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She let her copper curls fall forward over here face to hide full eyes. Trust Lily to see her distress.

“I’d like to hear more about your Scoobies,” Iris said into the quiet. Phil flashed her a grateful look. “It’s only fair – we dumped the entirety of the Coulson family on you last year.”

Clint patted his pockets until he turned up a bifold wallet, extracting a folded picture from it. “Don’t get them to sit still very often, but I managed to get all eight of them in the ring.” He passed it down to Sarah and Iris. “Couldn’t get Maria in the frame. She’s damn near as twitchy about cameras as she is about – well.” He shook his head. “She’s twitchy.”

Sarah leaned over her wife’s shoulder to look at the picture. She let out a low whistle. “Tall blonde drink of water, that one,” she said, finger hovering over Misty’s face. “Not that mousy brown and skinny chocolate are bad either,” she added, flicking her finger to Sam’s curl-framed face and Angie’s thin one.

“She’s too skinny,” Diane remarked, looking at Angie.

“We’re working on it,” Phil sighed. “Old issues. That’s Angie – the one you called mousy brown is Sam. Black, bald, and beefy is Chuck – former Marine, he and Thom would get along.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped at Phil’s description of Chuck. “Beefy? Really, Moonbeam?”

“Relax, pretty bird. I like your biceps better. The other tall blond ponytail – the male one – that’s CJ,” Phil continued. “And yes, he always looks like he’s in the middle of a growth spurt. I keep hoping he’ll fill out some.”

“He eats enough of your pasta, he ought to be packing on some pounds.” Natasha grinned. “You’ve got feed up the beanpoles, loverling.” She leaned over to look at the picture too. “Stocky strawberry blond is Lance. Don’t let his body language fool you… he’s gotten pretty deadly in the ring.”

“No more the meek and mild subservients we…” Clint sang, but didn’t elaborate. 

Iris pointed to the last two. “Raj and Al, right?”

“I’m betting Raj is the one that looks like he could play Mowgli or Aladdin in the school play,” Alex surmised, then flinched. “Was that insensitive? I didn’t mean to stereotype.”

Natasha smiled reassuringly at him. “It wouldn’t offend Raj, so we’ll let it slide. I think he gets a kick out if it, actually. He was raised in California – pure surfer boy accent. The first time people hear him talk, they do a double take.”

“Al looks… swarthy,” Sarah decided. “That’s a good word for it. Dark, mysterious, swash-buckling.”

Phil snorted out a laugh as he rounded the table again to resume his seat. “I’d love to see his face, being called swash-buckling. He’s not exactly piratical – he’s our language specialist. Grew up in a bilingual – maybe trilingual – house, and picks them up as easy as breathing.”

“He’s up to – what, sixteen fluent and two dozen passable?” Clint flicked his eyes to Phil for confirmation, continuing when Phil nodded. “Not much of a fighter, but he can back somebody up in the field.”

“Not much of a fighter compared to Chuck, Sam, or Misty,” Phil corrected. “Damned fine soldier compared to the average grunt. Lance is the same way – I know we tease him for being the weak link, but he’d be top ranked in most traditional combat squads. You just have higher standards, pretty bird.” Clint wrinkled his nose at Phil, who chuckled. “Would be interesting to put unenhanced, unChosen Lance up against a few Warriors. Might puncture a few egos.”

“If we’re puncturing egos, I want a shot at the Professor’s Warriors.” Natasha’s eyes glittered. 

“He has two,” Catriona supplied, raising her head from Lily’s. The easy banter had restored her calm – that, and the uncomplicated love of a child. “One man in Eastern Russia, another in Japan. I do not recall their names or specialties, I fear. I believe I met each of them once. Typically, we bring newly Chosen Warriors to a gathering early in their training – often the revelry after a Solstice Ritual, such as Cormac hosted today.”

Phil’s eyebrow lifted. “But not the ritual itself?”

The shoulder not occupied by a blonde girl shrugged. “Rarely. It is not forbidden, and Mother is certainly welcoming, but few Warriors accept the invitation. I believe we are… intimidating.”

Clint shook his head. “They don’t know what they’re missing.” He wasn’t thinking just of the ritual, though that was an experience he’d treasure. The intense contact with the Goddess was one aspect of it, but seeing the Druids interact was another. Really, though, it pissed him off that other people didn’t see beyond Catriona’s robe and title to get to know the woman. She was so much more than the High Priestess – how anyone could overlook that was just… wrong.

{I agree, dearling, but let’s not push her on it tonight,} Natasha interjected silently. {Did you see how tight she’s clinging to Lily?}

{Yeah. Great Good Goddess, I wish I could just take out a billboard in the stars and write ‘She’s fucking human, asswipes’ and point all the druids to it.}

{I’m fairly certain that would make it worse.} She met his eyes, ignoring the continuation of conversation around them. {I don’t think we can change their minds overnight – the druids or their Warriors… but we’re doing what we can. We see her, and the Scoobies, and Maria. Mother hints we’re not that far off from her finding her achroi ghra, and we’ll stand united with her until then. Right, dearling?} Clint nodded, not trusting his voice and feeling enough emotion that he wasn’t certain he could respond telepathically either. She smiled, running a hand down his arm and tucking in closer to him, tuning back in to the chatter around her.

~ * ~


	21. Chapter 21

The discussion meandered as the family settled. Pecan pie was savored with cups of tea and coffee all around. Phil didn’t look at the clock until he found himself yawning broadly enough to strain his jaw. “Bedtime,” he decided. He looked at Natasha and Clint, both with heavy eyes.

“Aunt Catriona, can I stay with you tonight?” Lily asked immediately.

“If your mothers are amenable, lass, certainly – you and your sister, should she so choose.” Catriona ran her hand over Lily’s blonde braids, touched that the child would offer – and grateful she need not impose on the triad. She didn’t think it would be wise to sleep alone tonight – even after napping on the flight, she knew her resources were stretched thin.

“If you’re cool with it, so are we,” Sarah agreed. “Little bit snores, though.”

“I do not!” Lily protested.

Iris chuckled. “Of course not.” She rose, taking the last of the dessert plates into the kitchen. “I’ll get up with you in the morning, Diane, to see the guests out. The rest of you should sleep in.”

“Sleeping in for these two means waiting until the sun has risen,” Clint remarked, jerking his thumbs at his spouses. “My solution to not being a morning person is to wait until after noon to get up.”

Diane laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “A fine solution indeed, when you’re on vacation.”

Clint was still thinking about that casual affection as the triad changed clothes in the Blue Room. Natasha gave him what mental privacy she could, letting him work through it on his own. He was silent as they crawled into the bed, though he responded easily enough to Phil’s caresses. 

Before the touch could heighten, Clint covered Phil’s hands with his own. “When you got that report on my fit – alright, Nat, is episode better? Okay – on my episode in Manila, did it talk about what triggered it?”

He stilled, gazing down into Clint’s eyes. He gently freed one hand to reach for Natasha. “The report in the file, or the unauthorized one I got from Sitwell over a beer?”

“Either. Both.”

“The official record makes a supposition that it was a traumatic flashback induced by physical resemblance between the victim and your brother.” Phil tried to keep his face impartial, but the disdain in his voice was audible to his spouses. “Idiot. Not you – Agent Murray. Even Sitwell knew there had to be more to it.” When Clint continued to gaze at him expectantly, Phil sighed. “Jasper saw the vic touch you – thought it was PTSD from childhood sexual abuse. That’s not on paper anywhere,” he hurried to add, looking at Clint’s wide eyes. “He didn’t even say it outright, kind of danced around the subject. Told me he thought you’d been ‘interfered with’ and I gave him hell for weeks for using that term. He didn’t put it in the reports because… well, he can be an asshole, but he still has some compassion.”

Clint lifted his hand to cup Phil’s cheek, doing the same to Natasha with his other hand. “Neither of them touched me like that – Dad and Barney, I mean.”

Natasha pressed her cheek into his palm. His mind was tight shut against her – which worried her. He only shut her out when there was something to hide. Was there something there? Sure, he said his brother and father hadn’t but… others?

“Don’t think about it, Sunshine,” Clint urged. “It’s not important. I just… it wasn’t that the perp touched me, it was what he said. He… called me…” Clint swallowed. “Sorry. Didn’t think it’d be hard to repeat.”

“You don’t have to,” Phil murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Clint’s forehead.

“I know that, but you should know – both of you. I mean, six years between episodes is great and means I probably won’t fall into another one right away but…”

The tremor in his voice hit Natasha’s gut, sharper than any physical blow. Goddess, she wanted to hunt down every man or woman who’d ever hurt him – she didn’t care whether it was physically or not – and repay that debt of pain with compound interest. “Don’t say it, if it’s going to hurt you.” Her tone wavered between an order and a plea.

“You sound like Rose.” He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “He – Dad – used to call me sonny boy – but only when he was kicking my ass. Never said it otherwise – had to be drunk and mean. I’ve got, like, a Pavlovian response to it now. Sonny boy, son, boy – they all throw me for a loop.” He’d pitched his voice low, trying to keep it soothing. He could feel Natasha vibrating through the hand on her cheek, and Phil wasn’t in much better shape. “He said it in public sometimes – I think he liked watching me freak out, anticipating the smackdown I’d get when we’d get home.”

Phil grit his teeth. It wouldn’t do any of them any good to get riled up – it wasn’t like he could hunt down Clint’s father and put a bullet in him. “He call you other things in public? Nice things he didn’t mean?”

Clint nodded, locking his eyes with Phil. Yes, his father had done that. So had others. Phil was the first person in his life whose compliments were entirely genuine – no hidden meaning, no ulterior motive. No snide, back-handed digs.

“Is that why you make up nicknames?” Natasha asked softly. “No baggage on them?” He nodded again. Natasha closed her eyes and whispered a curse in her native tongue. 

“I’m okay, most of the time,” Clint reminded them quietly, keeping up the gentle caresses with his thumbs. Every tremble of restrained anger – every drop of constrained fury relaxed him. He figured it probably shouldn’t – it probably wasn’t healthy to be glad his spouses were ready to kill for him. 

Probably not normal to be seriously, painfully turned on by it.

“He ever call you pretty?” Phil asked. His voice was rough. Clint shook his head. “Beautiful? Gorgeous?” After each term, Phil surged forward to place a fierce and possessive kiss on Clint’s skin. “Amazing? Brave?”

Natasha slid her knee over his, adding tender kisses of her own. “Husband,” she breathed. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Phil agreed, and surged up to capture Clint’s lips with his.

~ * ~

Natasha figured it was a measure of how comfortable she was at the Rainbow Inn that she padded sock-footed into the dining room Thursday morning without checking to see who was already there.

“Hi,” she blurted, looking at the strangers at the table.

“Good morning, Natasha,” Diane greeted her, kissing her cheek as she stepped by. “This is my daughter-in-law,” she said to the couple. “Natasha, this is Karen and Lucy Montgomery. They’re passing through on their way to visit family for Christmas.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman on the right said. “I’m Karen. I thought we’d met all the family.”

“My husbands and I got in last night,” Natasha replied automatically. She looked to Diane, feeling a little off-balance.

Diane smiled reassuringly. “I’ll fetch you a cup of tea, lovey.” She waved Natasha to the table.

The only word Natasha could think of that adequately described the couple was ‘grandmotherly.’ They were both plump with white-grey hair and faces lined with laugh marks – signs of a life well lived. “Thanks,” she said to Diane, and sat down. “I hope the commotion didn’t wake you. The twins were very excited to see us.”

Lucy smiled. “The ruckus of happy children is never a bother.” She had an accent – similar to Catriona’s but softer. “You’re married to the son, then? What’s his name, Karen?”

“Philip,” her wife supplied.

“Phil,” Natasha said at the same moment, and couldn’t help but smile. “Our husband’s name is Clint.” She took the mug of tea that Diane brought her, relieved when her mother-in-law sat down next to her.

“They’ve been married now, what is it, a year?” Diane asked. Natasha nodded. “Last of the kids to settle down. I was sure Phil was going to be a confirmed bachelor.”

“And will you be adding to the mess of grandchildren?” Karen asked, amusement in her eyes.

Natasha flinched. Diane immediately placed a hand over hers where it rested on the table. “Hopefully,” Natasha managed.

Lucy glared at her wife. “Don’t mind her. She has all the tact of a four-year-old.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha looked down at Diane’s hand on hers. “I should be used to it. Clint’s not all that diplomatic either.”

“How is Clint this morning?” Diane asked. 

Natasha shot her a look. “He’s fine. Don’t ask him that.” At Diane’s raised eyebrow, she shook her head. “Sorry. Long couple of days. Apparently I’m still off-kilter.” Guests in the room meant she didn’t specify that it was the Solstice rocking her balance, but Diane knew enough to connect the dots.

“Jet lagged, too, I’d bet.”

Karen perked up at that. “You’ve been traveling, then?”

“Yes… we’ve just come back from Ireland. Spent a few days there with our sister – adopted sister, I guess is the best term. She’s here too. Speaking of Catriona – she is normally up before me.” Natasha directed the comment to Diane, letting her words drift upwards in a question.

“Up, eaten, and off playing with the twins,” Diane said with a laugh. “I managed to talk her into snow gear, but I don’t have high hopes she’ll leave it on.”

That made Natasha grin. “Shoes are her nemesis.” At the curious looks from the guests, Natasha shrugged. “She likes to be barefoot, even in the snow. Clint’s sister-in-law Laura – they have a farm – spent five days trying to get her to at least wear flip-flops in the fields, and no dice. If you keep her in boots out there, I’ll owe you a pie.”

Diane grinned. “I don’t think it’ll be you, I, or Laura that manages that. If anyone can, it’ll be Lilabeth.”

“True.” Natasha peered into her teacup. “So, what part of the country are you from?” she asked Lucy.

“Live in Boston, visiting family in Montana,” she answered. “This Inn’s a bit out of the way for us, but it’s a pleasant place to spend a night.”

“Aye, tis that.” Catriona stood in the doorway, rosy-cheeked… and bare-foot.

A grin spread across Natasha’s face. “Knew she wouldn’t keep you in boots.” She opened her arms to the druid, who approached and hugged her. “Have fun with the girls?”

“Och, aye. Fewer things are a better balm to the soul than the uncomplicated love of young people,” Catriona said with a sigh, sinking into the chair next to Natasha. “I do beg your pardon, Mistresses. It is unpardonably rude of me not to have introduced myself. Catriona O’Clare, at your service.” She tipped her head regally.

“Karen and Lucy Montgomery – what part of Ireland are you from?”

Catriona smiled. “County Clare, of course.”

“Be nice,” Natasha murmured, grinning. The druid elbowed her playfully.

They finished breakfast, and Diane escorted the Montgomerys out, hugging each of them in turn before waving them down the driveway. She returned to the kitchen and opened her arms dramatically to Natasha. “There! We’re all yours now – no more guests.”

Natasha smiled. “I didn’t mind the guests. I figure anybody you’d have stay here isn’t going to look askance at our triad.”

“Not likely, no.” Diane poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. “There are a few that would object to your line of work, though.” Natasha waved that away. “I am sorry if they upset you – Karen is a dear woman, but…”

“What did she say?” Catriona’s gaze sharpened on Natasha.

“Asked about kids. It’s okay… it’s… I’m getting used to it.” She turned her tea cup in a circle on the table. Catriona put a hand on her wrist, looking sympathetic. “Really, deirfiur. I’m okay.”

“I fear that ‘okay’ belongs in the same class of words as ‘fine’ and ‘stupid,’” Catriona said sourly.

~ * ~


	22. Chapter 22

“What’s on the agenda today?” Natasha asked Diane. Iris and Diane exchanged glances, which made Natasha scowl. “That’s as bad as the hand signals the Scoobies shoot back and forth.”

“Sorry, lovey.” Diane patted her hand. “We’d been talking about it when we made breakfast for the Montgomerys. There are a couple of options. I wouldn’t be surprised if the four of you need a day of rest, and that’s entirely acceptable.” She nodded to Catriona, who was hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“But…” Iris took over, “there’s also a Women’s Group gathering at church this afternoon, and we wondered if you and Catriona would like to join us. It would give you a chance to visit with Darla, and see Megan without Derek,” she added. “Sarah and I plan to go.”

Catriona wrapped a red curl around her finger, nibbling on the ends of the hair. “Megan is the other sister?” she asked Natasha. “The one like the Bard?”

Natasha gently tugged the hair out of Catriona’s mouth and untwined the curl. “Yes.” She slid her arm around Catriona’s shoulders. “You don’t have to go, you know. I’m curious – I mean, I figure she’s got redeeming qualities,” she flicked her eyes to Diane, “given the people who raised her, but I don’t want you to think you have to.”

“You need not protect me from her, deirfiur.”

“If I had my way, I’d protect you from everybody,” Natasha said firmly. “And I’m not the only one. Me, Clint, Phil – hell, the Scoobies and Maria too – you’re not going to get us to stop protecting you.”

Iris chuckled at Catriona’s half-embarrassed, half-outraged expression. “Welcome to being loved by Coulsons. I’ve never been so safe.”

“This isn’t just coming from Phil,” Natasha corrected.

“You’re a Coulson now too, lovey, even if you don’t take the name,” Diane said softly.

Natasha sidestepped that, turning her attention back to Catriona. “So? Women’s Group?”

The druid shrugged. “So long as no hue and cry will be raised over my not being a member of the faith, I have no objections.”

Diane blinked. “Not a member… oh.” Her cheeks colored. “That hadn’t occurred to me. Is that… uncomfortable for you?”

“You mean, does spending an unspecified amount of time in what I presume is a Christian church offend my pagan sensibilities?” Catriona’s lips twitched. “I made my peace with Christianity a number of centuries ago, Mistress – Diane. Were it an issue for me, I would not be joining your Christmas celebration.”

Iris grinned at her mother-in-law. “It’s always nice to know Alex isn’t the only one that puts his foot in his mouth now and again.”

~ * ~

Phil gave up trying to lever Clint out of bed. The archer hadn’t even woken enough to curse at him this time, and Phil judged that as being legitimately exhausted. He’d slept past his normal waking time as well – given the past few days, it wasn’t unexpected.

He trotted down the stairs towards the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee before leaning down to drop a kiss on Catriona’s forehead. He swept the hair off Natasha’s neck and pressed a kiss there as well, murmuring endearments.

“Good morning to you too,” she said, amused. “Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well here,” he grinned, and kissed her lips as well. “Mmm.”

Diane chuckled, causing Phil to shoot an inquiring look at her. “Just enjoying your happiness, lovey. Wasn’t sure you’d noticed I was here.”

Iris was grinning too. “I don’t think he did.”

“My situational awareness is better than that, thank you.” Phil sank into the chair next to Natasha, grinning back at Iris.

“Clint still in bed?” Natasha asked, settling against Phil.

“Didn’t even stir at the smell of coffee.”

Catriona frowned. “Should I go check on him?”

Iris burst into laughter. “Now who’s being protective?”

“Hush, you,” Catriona said absently – which made Iris laugh harder. “Well, treorai?”

Phil shrugged, his fingers tangling in Natasha’s hair. “It’s up to you, little one.” Catriona nodded briskly and disappeared out of the kitchen. “Why were you teasing her about being protective?” he asked Iris mildly.

“She was twitting Natasha about trying to keep her safe earlier,” Iris explained, not looking in the slightest bit surprised that Phil would ask.

“Catriona’s still surprised we defend her,” Natasha murmured to her husband. “Pisses Clint off.”

“That part I figured out on my own,” Phil told her dryly. “I got a message from Maria – I need to call and check in.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Personal or professional?”

“Considering it was addressed to treorai and signed Ria, I’m thinking personal.” That worried Phil more than he wanted to admit. Maria did not relax easily. In a decade of professional friendship and six months of increasing familial ties, he’d never seen or heard her use that nickname – never seen her sign even a personal message with less than her full first and last name. “Do you want to join me? Video chat her?”

She raised one elegant eyebrow. “How worried are you?” He held his finger and thumb an inch apart. She reached for his hand and adjusted it until the gap was closer to three inches. “Threefold, because now I am too – and Clint would be, if he were awake.” She looked across to Diane and Iris. “Do you mind if we step out? Oh – and what time is the Women’s Group meeting?”

“Two o’clock, and of course we don’t mind.”

“Women’s Group?” Phil repeated.

“Later. Maria first.” She rose and extended her hand. He took it and followed her back up the stairs to the Blue Room.

Natasha pushed open the door slowly, and was rewarded for her caution by the adorable vista of Catriona and Clint fast asleep on the bed. She paused to snap a photo with her phone before reversing out the door and stepping instead to the Green Room that Catriona had stayed in the previous night. Phil followed her, a fond grin on his face.

“I suppose a normal husband would be jealous,” he remarked, pulling out his phone with one hand and using the other to pull her close. “But they’re so damned cute.”

She laughed. “A normal wife probably would be too, but you’re right.” She waited as he brought up Maria’s contact and initiated the video chat.

“Hill.”

Phil peered into the phone. “Maria, you look like hell.”

Her gaze sharpened on the screen. “Phil. Sorry. Didn’t realize it was you.” They saw her lever herself up off the couch… and the sleeping body next to her. “What’s up?”

“You don’t remember messaging me last night?”

She frowned. “Damn it.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t think I’d actually hit send. Did I wake you?”

His eyebrows shot up. “No. Are you safe?”

“What? Of course.” She shifted again, moving away from the couch. “Just… tired.”

“Maria.” Natasha’s voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp. “Who is that with you?”

They could see her debate lying – and the moment she realized they could tell. “Damn it.” She scrubbed her face. “I picked Misty up at a bar last night. She’d gone to see her mom and was trying to drink it away. I didn’t want to send her home alone, so she bunked here. We fell asleep on the couch.” She caught Phil’s raised eyebrow. “Nothing happened,” she said defensively. “I wouldn’t – she’s my friend, Phil.”

“I know,” he soothed. “I wasn’t suggesting you’d take advantage – if anything, I was concerned about the reverse. Your message was less than lucid, laoch scail. I was worried.”

Maria’s expression softened. What little anger she’d mustered bled away when he used her Gaelic name. “Sorry.”

“Is she okay now?”

She shrugged, her eyes darting to look at the still-sleeping form. “I think so. Probably hung over, but I think she’s cried out.” Maria paused, lowering her voice. “Jesus, it was like watching her tear out her heart.”

Natasha’s smile was sympathetic. “Not easy to care, is it?” She was remembering the day she and Clint had come to Phil’s apartment at Gaia’s behest – the desperate agony in his face as he confessed his attraction to them. “You going to be okay with her, or do we need to call for backup?”

“No!” The denial was sharp, and Maria’s eyes flickered to Misty again to be sure she hadn’t awoken. “No backup,” she continued more quietly. “I can handle it. She didn’t want anyone – I followed my gut and looked her up. She’d be pissed if I brought anyone else in.” Maria shook her head. “She’s probably going to be pissed that I talked to you, but…”

“If she is, have her call me,” Phil ordered. Natasha tapped the back of his hand, out of sight, and he sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that… Chiefish.”

Maria was surprised to find herself smiling at him. “Sounds like a Clint word. It’s okay. You are my Chief – and you’re my friend.”

“Damn right,” he agreed, returning the smile. “I mean it, though – if she needs to rant and rave, I’m here. Or if you do.”

“I don’t want to bother you…” She rubbed her the back of her neck.

Natasha took the phone and held it close enough so that her face filled the screen. “Maria. You aren’t a bother. You aren’t imposing. You’re not an obligation. It’s okay to need us. We need you, too.” Maria made a sound that Natasha couldn’t identify, but she plowed ahead anyway. “Thank you for stepping up to take care of Misty. It’s… really nice, to know she wasn’t alone and hurting.”

“Any time,” Maria said weakly.

Phil took the phone back, shooting Natasha an inquisitive look. “We’ll let you go – but I’ve got no plans today, and I’ll have my phone. If either of you need me, please call.”

“Yes, sir.” The words were formal, but her smile softened them. “Give Clint and Catriona hugs for me, would you?”

“You got it.” He ended the call and put the phone down on the bed, wrapping both arms around Natasha.

She leaned into his embrace, tucking her head into his shoulder. “She needed to hear it.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to,” she said dryly. 

He chuckled, smoothing a hand down her spine. “I was, yes. You’re not usually so… effusive. Even with the Scoobies.”

“She needed to hear it,” Natasha repeated. “Didn’t you see her tap her tag?”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up and his hand stilled on her. “No.”

Natasha kissed his neck gently. “She fidgets when she’s nervous, and she kept tapping it whenever her had crossed over her chest – just a quick finger touch. I do the same thing with my knives.” He nodded. “She’s not used to being part of a whole,” she continued. “I know the feeling. If it weren’t for Gaia, I’d doubt my welcome too.”

“I’m doubly grateful to Her, then,” Phil murmured, cradling her close.

~ * ~


	23. Chapter 23

Clint shouldn’t have laughed.

He’d been lounging on the bed watching Natasha try and pick a suitable outfit for this Women’s Group meeting they were going to, idly stroking Phil’s back, when Catriona entered with what he could only describe as a panicked expression.

She didn’t know what to wear.

And he’d laughed.

This was apparently just shy of murdering a puppy in front of her, based on the glares he’d received from husband, wife, and sister. So in penance, he’d taken her to Diane for help – which was how he found himself pressed into valet duty by Diane, Sarah, Iris, and the twins. His job was to help Catriona into and out of whatever he was handed, and think up new ways to compliment her appearance – and the taste of whoever had selected the outfit.

At least she’d stopped crying.

{I am such an idiot,} Clint repeated to Natasha as he held out another skirt for Catriona.

{Yep.} Her tone had softened about the same time Catriona’s tears had dried up, but she was still sharper with him than usual.

{Phil still pissed?}

She didn’t sigh – or if she did, it didn’t translate to telepathy. {He was already on hyper-protective alert, after talking to Maria.}

Clint did sigh – as surreptitiously as possible. {I’m an idiot.} He turned his attention back to Catriona, who was standing in plain white bra and panties that Natasha had remembered to pack for her – apparently his wife was aware of Catriona’s Commando habit. He took the brown skirt that Diane handed him and shook it out, holding the waistband open for the druid to step into. On Sarah, it was probably a mini-skirt. On Catriona it hit just above her knee. He fastened it and held out his hand to Iris, who passed him an ivory sweater. He helped Catriona into it, pulling her hair out of the collar gently, and stepped back.

“Yes,” Diane said firmly, and pointed at the full-length mirror. “You look darling.”

Catriona peered at her reflection, expecting to see another variation of ‘child wearing her mother’s clothes’ but was surprised to see instead a rather different image – she looked like an adult. A capable adult. 

Sarah stepped up behind her and lifted her hair, twisting it into a knot at the base of her neck. “I think we’ve got a winner. Damn. That sweater never looked that good on me.”

Iris shot her an amused look. “I thought it did.”

“Looks better on her,” Sarah insisted. “What do you think?” She directed that at Clint, almost daring him to object.

“I think you look elegant,” he told Catriona with sincerity. “You look like… well, hell. You look as put together as Director Carter.”

Catriona’s smile blossomed. “Thank you.” She patted the sweater, liking the cabled knit, smoothing the brown suede skirt. “Tis quite a feather in my cap, to be compared to Maggie May.”

{Nicely done, and I’m passing that observation on to Phil,} Natasha said approvingly. {She looks like she could wrangle kids, command an army, or lead a corporate takeover. Or all three at once.}

Clint repeated Natasha’s description to Catriona and grinned at her delight. “What time’s your thing?”

“Two,” Diane told him, glancing at her watch. “Which means just enough time for the rest of us to get ready.” She shooed Catriona and Clint out of the bedroom – they had been in Sarah and Iris’s, given Sarah was closest to Catriona in size – and headed for her own room. “Go show off to Phil, lovey, and we’ll be downstairs to go soon.”

Catriona took Clint’s hand and wandered down the hallway to the Blue Room. Phil was adding the finishing touches to Natasha’s hair. He turned to catch sight of them and let out a low whistle. “Very nice.” He patted a last curl in place for Natasha before approaching Catriona, examining her closely. “You need… something.” He looked at his spouses. “Any objections to handing out her Christmas gift early?”

“Treorai, you need not—”

“No objections,” Natasha interrupted. “Deirfiur, you should know better than to try and talk him out of doing things for others.”

Phil grinned at that while he dug in one of his bags for a green velvet box. “When I was having the Clan’s tags made, I had an idea…” He handed her the box.

Catriona opened the hinged lid and looked down at an intricate triquetra in yellow gold, resting on a solid gold base. The center had a flat, coin-size space upon which ‘An Teaglach Tofa’ was inscribed, just as the Scoobies’ tags. The three points of the knot had triangular emeralds mounted in them, and she touched one gentle with a shaking finger. At his gesture, she turned the pendant over in her hand and saw what was inscribed upon the back. “Nil tu leat fein,” she read aloud, and squeezed her hand around it, looking up at him – speechless.

He’d expected the emotion – he’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t reacted at all – but was still surprised to feel her launch at him, jumping up high enough that she could link her arms around his neck and bury her head in his shoulder. She didn’t cry, but she was trembling. He eased them down on to the edge of the bed, running his hands down her back. “Easy, little one.” Clint and Natasha sat down on either side of them, adding comforting touches. 

“At the risk of making this worse… what’s it mean?” Clint asked.

Catriona pulled her head back, wiping at her eyes though no tears had fallen. “It means ‘you are not alone,’ and it is…” She shook her head. “The pendant itself is lovely, and I will wear it with pleasure, but it is the words – and the truth of them – that stuns me.”

“Wear it often, and keep those words pressed against your heart,” Phil advised. “Because they’re true. I realized a few weeks ago that I’m closer to you than any of my actual sisters – except maybe Sarah – and I wouldn’t change that. So, you aren’t alone, little one.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re part of our teaglach, part of our family, and we love you dearly.”

She didn’t answer, just cuddled into them. Natasha took the pendant from her – she released it reluctantly – and managed to get the chain around her neck without dislodging the druid from Phil’s embrace. “There. Where it belongs.”

Clint touched the pendant, resting against the ivory sweater, and smiled. “You were right, Phil. Needed that last little something. Now you’re ready.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Speaking of ready, we’ve got to go down,” Natasha sighed. She stood, straightening her own skirt – deep purple, with a black silk blouse – and offered her hand to Catriona. “Unless you want to stay and cuddle?”

“No.” The druid released Phil, kissed both him and Clint on the cheeks, and rose to take Natasha’s hand. “I’d like to meet the other ladies.”

~ * ~

Phil tucked the implements he’d used on Natasha back into their traveling case, keeping one eye on his husband. Once their wife and sister left, Clint had settled against the headboard of the bed, looking out the window. Phil knew from long experience that there wasn’t anything interesting in the back yard, no matter how superior Clint’s eyesight was – which made him think he was focused internally instead.

“Penny for your thoughts, pretty bird?”

Clint sighed and turned his gaze on his husband. “I hate that you’re better at this stuff than I am, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“This stuff?” Phil repeated, puzzled. He eased himself on to the bed next to Clint, twining their fingers together. “Hair and make-up? It’s just a matter of practice—”

“Being a husband.”

Both eyebrows shot up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Moonbeam.”

“Honestly, Clint, I have no idea what you mean.” He pulled at the archer until he could wrap his arms around him.

Clint burrowed into Phil’s arms, pressing his head into the crook of Phil’s shoulder. It still smelled like Catriona, an unexpected comfort. “You don’t say the wrong thing, make them cry. When you make Nat or Catriona cry, it’s because they love you. When I do, it’s because I’m a fucking idiot.”

Phil put one hand on the back of Clint’s head to keep him close, the other running soothing strokes down his back. “I hope you don’t think me making Catriona cry happy tears is a husband thing, or there are aspects to that relationship that I’m not aware of.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, love.” He pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead. “Is this about this morning?” Clint nodded against him. “Oh, darling.” Phil shifted them again in the bed until they were lying on their sides, Clint curled into a fetal position with Phil behind him. “That wasn’t the husband talking.” He bit off another endearment, not wanting to inadvertently stumble upon one which upset Clint. “That wasn’t even the taoiseach talking. That was purely as the older sibling of three sisters. The number of times one of them made the others cry… I just reacted.”

“You can say brother. I’m not going to have an episode over it.” Clint’s voice was muffled in his arm, but Phil thought there was some bitterness in it.

“Excuse me for not wanting to use a word that I know upsets you, when you’re already upset,” Phil said dryly. He was rewarded by a soft chuckle from Clint. “I was already edgy, after talking to Maria.” Natasha had shared that conversation with Clint when he’d awoken, so Phil didn’t have to elaborate. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I knew you didn’t mean any harm.”

Clint elbowed him. “You don’t get to take the blame.”

He felt Phil’s smile against the back of his neck. “Fine. Let’s split it, then. Actually, half of it should go to my mother and Iris, because they should have offered to help Catriona dress before she freaked herself out over it.”

“Deal.” Clint twisted in his arms, laying on his back and looking up at Phil. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned down to kiss his husband thoroughly, chuckling when Clint pushed him away, pointing at the open door. “Feeling shy, my ravishing raptor? I thought that was my quirk.”

Clint relented, running a hand down Phil’s face. “I don’t know if the twins went with them, and… well, if they were mine, I’d rather they didn’t catch a glimpse of their favorite uncles in the act.”

“Sure of your crown as favorite, hmm?” Phil rose to shut the door, looking back over his shoulder at Clint.

“Given that the competition is Thom and Derek, yeah. I mean, we’ve got Derek beat by ten miles, and I don’t think Thom’s as inclined to spoil them as we are.” Clint reached for him when he returned, plucking at the buttons of the shirt Phil had put on.

Phil pulled back long enough to pull shirt and undershirt off, settling back down on the bed next to Clint. “No one spoils the kids like you do, lovebird.”

“I like kids,” Clint said defensively. His hand stilled in their exploration of Phil’s chest, eyes seeking out Phil’s for reassurance.

“It wasn’t a criticism.” Phil leaned forward to kiss him, full of tenderness. “I adore watching you with the children, and picturing one of our own someday.”

“Yours,” Clint said sharply. “Not mine. Yours.”

Phil kissed him again, this time in understanding. “Mine by blood, if that’s what you wish, but ours nonetheless.”

Clint relaxed against him. “Yeah. Just… I don’t think I could… I’d be afraid… hell, I am afraid.” That he whispered against Phil’s lips. “Afraid to look into those tiny eyes and see my father, or see Barney.”

“Not your mother?” Phil asked. His embrace tightened. “Sorry, love. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I don’t want to see her eyes either,” Clint murmured. “Whether she didn’t see or wouldn’t see… no.”

Phil used his thumb to wipe a tear from Clint’s cheek, leaning forward to kiss away the track of it. “As you wish.”

~ * ~


	24. Chapter 24

“So…” Sarah drawled from the driver’s seat. “Before we go in there, it’s probably a good idea for you to know what they think Phil actually does.”

Natasha nodded. “Unspecified government agency, right?”

“Yup. Although the general feeling is he’s CIA, FBI – something flashy, considering he sometimes goes for the gun he’s not wearing.” Sarah grinned, flashing them a look in the rear-view mirror. “Which is why Dad won’t let him wear it in public.”

Natasha snorted. “And probably why he frisked me – twice – before I left the Inn, too.”

“Oh no, I think that was just for fun,” Diane murmured.

“Easiest to stick with the truth, then – I work with him, and our husband.” She twisted to look at Diane directly. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Your triad?” Diane shrugged. “They accept – or fake it quite well – Sarah and Iris, and they’re well aware of the clientele the Inn caters to. I have no reason to think any of them will make a scene over your triad, or I wouldn’t have invited you.”

Catriona touched her new pendant, reaching for Natasha’s hand. “And I, Mistress – Diane? What tale shall I weave for myself?”

Natasha tugged at Catriona’s hand until she could hug the druid. “You’re my adopted sister, and you live in Ireland. You’re a… teacher. That work?” At Catriona’s nod, she continued. “You teach botany at… didn’t you say you’d gone to the University of Edinburgh? You ever teach there?”

“A great many years ago, yes. It was not botany… at the time, I taught medieval literature.” Catriona smiled at Natasha’s guffaw. “That is a suitable description, but if anyone calls me a professor…”

“Doctor, then. Doctor Catriona O’Clare. They don’t need to know it’s medical and not philosophical.” Natasha tilted Catriona’s face up to look in her eyes. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yes, deirfiur.”

“Are you planning to be so… tactile?” Diane asked carefully.

Natasha met Diane’s eyes. She tried to defer to Phil’s mother in domestic things – it was her home, her family. This, she would not back down on. Whatever physical contact Catriona needed or wanted would be offered immediately and with no strings attached. She would never deny her deirfiur – and she didn’t damn well care who that made uncomfortable. Her husbands felt the same, and they were the only people on the planet with the right to suggest otherwise.

“Alright.” Diane lifted her hands to fend off Natasha’s glare. “Just… you may get odd looks.”

{Mother, is it possible for my wedding ring to be visible to the other women at this gathering? Just here,} she hastened to add. {It’s just… I want to be their wife, here. Not hide.}

\\\It is done, my daughter.// There was a pause that Natasha couldn’t interpret. \\\I look forward to the day upon which you ask me to remove the charm altogether.//

{You and me both, Mother. Thank you.} Natasha returned her attention to the van occupants.

“What did Mother have to say?” Catriona asked. Diane jolted, apparently not aware that Natasha could speak to the Goddess so easily.

“My ring will be visible while we’re there – I asked Her to lift the charm.” Natasha touched the black metal band. “I’m married. She’s my sister. I can touch her if I want. No shame.”

Iris twisted in the passenger seat. “Ease up, Natasha. In her own way, she’s trying to protect you. Isn’t that right, Diane?”

Phil’s mother shot her daughter-in-law a look. “Natasha doesn’t need protecting.”

Catriona began to chuckle softly. Natasha looked at her curiously. “Did we not have this discussion over coffee, deirfiur?”

Natasha looked more closely at Diane, who was radiating embarrassment. Abruptly, she understood, and began laughing as well. “I wish I could figure out what it is about you that makes everyone suddenly need to wrap you in bubble wrap,” Natasha said to Catriona with a grin. “The only person I know that doesn’t jump to your defense is Fury.”

“There are a few… Mother says it is my height, or lack thereof.” She made a face. “Two millennia of evolution means that, while I was at the low-end of the adult scale when I was your age… I am now closer to the low-end of the adolescent stage, at this time.”

“You’re adorable,” Iris admitted. “I don’t think that’s all of it, though.” She grinned. “Might be the accent.”

“Nah.” Sarah flashed a look at her wife. “It’s those big, green eyes and long, dark eyelashes. One flutter of those, and anybody’d do whatever the pixie asks.”

“I am not a pixie,” Catriona retorted automatically.

They arrived at the church parking lot, already crammed with vehicles like the minivan they piled out of. Catriona didn’t reach for Natasha’s hand – she had been listening to Diane, and didn’t see any reason to unnecessarily invite comment – but she did look at the assembled women with wide eyes.

It wasn’t a large gathering, by Natasha’s standards. There were perhaps thirty women of various ages, ranging from her own up to elders. The room they were led to – which Natasha thought was probably used for wedding receptions, too – had long tables arranged, set with white linen and china. Around the edge of the room were lounge chairs, mismatched and probably culled from various homes. A tub of water was at the foot of each chair, and a small table held a selection of nail polish, tools, and towels.

“Have you been telling tales, Diane?” Natasha asked quietly, surveying the pedicure stations.

“No,” she demurred, looking around as well. “The theme changes every month, I honestly didn’t think to look.”

Darla separated herself from a cluster of women and walked over to administer hugs. “Mom! I didn’t think you’d talk them into coming!” She hugged Natasha and Catriona in turn. “I’m so glad to see you. You both look lovely!”

“Thank you,” Natasha answered, returning the hug. “Look, deirfiur, you’ll get to take your shoes off after all.” Getting the druid into a pair of black shoes – short pumps borrowed from Lily – had been an exercise in frustration.

“We did not do the water thing last year?” Catriona asked, eyeing the tubs. “What is the purpose? My feet are already clean.”

Darla laughed and hugged her again. “Because it feels good.” She raised a hand, and the third Coulson sister headed towards them. “Meg, I want you to meet Natasha’s adopted sister, Catriona. This is Megan Anderson, our middle sister.”

Catriona extended her hands to the newcomer, suddenly unsure of the proper greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet another of treorai’s – Phil’s – family.” She cursed herself – she’d been intending to refrain from using Gaelic at this gathering.

Megan flickered a glance at her mother before putting her hands in Catriona’s. “Nice to meet you, too. Rose and Lily talk about you all the time, it’s good to put a face to the name.”

At the mention of the twins, Catriona’s eyes lit up. “I am fair fond of the lasses, myself.”

“My oldest, Catherine, is two years younger than the twins, and looks up to them… anything they’re interested in, she is.” Megan released her hands, offering a small smile. “She’d like to meet you.”

“I should be delighted, of course,” Catriona agreed. “Will you be at the Inn for Christmas?”

“We will,” Megan agreed, but there was a flicker across her face that Catriona couldn’t identify.

“Megan! Darla! Don’t keep them all to yourself!” That falsely cheerful reprimand came from a formidable woman in an unflattering grey suit making her way across the floor. Natasha shifted until she was standing in front of Catriona, and the druid poked her in the side for it.

“Angela,” Diane greeted with a forced smile. “I’d like to introduce my daughter-in-law Natasha, and her sister Catriona.”

Natasha let her eyes meet the steel grey of this mysterious Angela, and didn’t make much effort to soften it. This was the kind of woman who pretended she was Pepper Potts – suits, heels, sharp smiles – and hadn’t a tenth of the skill to pull it off. She was familiar with the type, even before she’d met Pepper. Meeting the real thing put these… amateurs… in perspective.

“Agent Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced herself, extending a professional hand. “My sister, Doctor Catriona O’Clare.” She didn’t move to allow the stranger to reach Catriona.

Angela shook her hand – limp and sweaty, Natasha noted – and peered over her shoulder at the druid. “Well! I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re an Agent. You must work with Philip at his mysterious job.”

“Classified job,” Natasha corrected. “Yes, Phil and I and our husband all work together.” She took fierce joy in watching understanding dawn on Angela’s face. “Catriona is a visiting lecturer at the University of Ediburgh.”

“Oh?” Angela regained some of her footing, switching her focus to the druid. “What do you teach?”

Catriona gave in to impulse and rested a hand on Natasha’s back – out of sight of their interrogator. “As of late, I have been instructing post-graduate students on plant taxonomy, though I regularly teach phytomedicine and ethnobotany.” She noticed Diane turn away, hiding a smile.

“I see.” Angela wilted some. “Well! Welcome to United Faith Church of Christ!”

“Thank you,” Natasha replied, diverting attention away from Catriona.

Diane, knowing Angela wasn’t the type to lose interest and wander away, engaged her in conversation and begin drifting towards one of the tables. Natasha relaxed, turning to Catriona.

“I am fine, deirfiur,” Catriona soothed. “I would not have come, were I that easily offended.”

Darla and Megan were looking at them in confusion. Sarah sighed. Iris patted her wife’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine, sweet pea. I promise.” She turned to Darla and Megan. “If you think Phil’s protective of you three… wait until you’ve seen him defend Catriona… and he’s got nothing on Natasha.”

“I’ve seen it, remember?” Darla said dryly. “I thought it was going to come to blows last year at Christmas. I told you about it, didn’t I, Meg? Dad did his usually speak-before-thinking thing, and next thing I know there’s a dru– doctor in the garden and a very pissed off brother railing at Dad in the hallway.”

“Phil wouldn’t have hit him,” Natasha demurred. She slid her arm around Catriona’s waist. “I might have, but I promised our boss not to commit any felonies, and then I promised your sister not to deprive the twins of their Papa, so…”

“And you all overreacted,” Catriona chastised.

Natasha squeezed her. “Sorry, deirfiur. Consider it practice for someday.”

Megan looked lost, and a little wistful. “The kids will never forgive me for missing a chance to see their Uncle Phil lose his cool. Joey calls him Agent Cool,” she told Natasha with a small smile. “Last time he was in a fight at school, he told the principal he didn’t fight back because his Uncle wouldn’t have either – until the bully knocked someone over, and then all bets were off.”

“Sounds like Phil,” Natasha agreed. “Although he’d probably use that Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge glare to force the bully into behaving.”

“Joey hasn’t mastered that look, yet,” Megan said with a laugh. “He does a pretty good My-Uncle-Is-Better-Than-Your-Uncle one, though.”

Catriona smiled, picturing Clint and Phil with Darla’s children last Christmas. “I hope he is as fond of Clint… he does love children.”

“They all love Clint,” Natasha agreed fondly.

“Tommy wants to know if we’re going for laser tag again,” Darla interjected. “The whole family had fun.”

“Ah… no.” Natasha’s eyes shifted away. “It’s best if I don’t… no.”

“Deirfiur?”

“Sorry.” Natasha squeezed her around the waist again. “Games are good. Games that play on military force… not good.”

Megan looked more closely at her, tilting her head to one side. “PTSD?”

Natasha’s eyes jerked back to hers. “What? No,” she denied immediately, then paused. “Sort of. Maybe.”

Iris put a comforting hand on Natasha, much as she would have to one of her daughters. “It doesn’t need a name. She has darkness in her past, Megan – it’s not as easy for her to put it away as it is for Phil. Clint either, although in different ways.” She lowered her hand. “Now. I realize there’s no booze here, but I need something to drink… tea?”

Catriona perked up, reaching for her sleeve and encountering ivory knit instead of white robe. “Botheration. I did not bring any.”

Iris laughed and gestured at a table set with large carafes and stacks of mugs, neat arrays of teabags and sweeteners. “I doubt it measures up to yours, but there’s tea.”

“Yours?” Megan asked.

Natasha smiled, gesturing Catriona to precede her. “She grows and blends her own. That part about her teaching botanical stuff? She could write the textbooks.”

“I have written them,” Catriona said crisply. “Pharmacopeia of the British Isles, published in… well. It has been a number of years.”

“If you ever get the urge to teach preadolescents, I could schedule you a workshop at the Bonnevue Institute,” Iris offered with a smile. “Might be good for them, to hear that green growing things are good for more than salad.”

At Catriona’s raised eyebrow, Darla filled in, “That’s where all the kids go – Iris started working there last summer as a guidance counselor. Thom volunteers sometimes with the sports teams, and I pitch in with the music programs.”

“Derek spoke to the civics classes, too,” Megan volunteered. “He’s a lawyer,” she added at another raised eyebrow. “Family law, mostly. Divorces, child custody, adoptions.”

“He helped us get the twins,” Sarah said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I go in and help with the cooking classes – or Mom does, sometimes. We all pitch in where we can, you know? Kids need more than just their parents.” Natasha flinched and tried to hide it, but Catriona had seen it and put a comforting hand on her forearm. Sarah grimaced. “Damn it. Sorry, Natasha.”

Megan looked between them, an expression on her face that reminded Natasha of Phil so strongly that it really hit her – irascible husband or not, this was Phil’s sister and Diane’s daughter. “You ever need help with papers like Sarah and Iris did… Natasha, you can call me,” she offered quietly. She didn’t use the word ‘adoption’ again, and didn’t hint at fertility or pregnancy – just support. 

“Thanks, Meg,” Natasha managed around a tight throat. “Call me Nat.”

~ * ~


	25. Chapter 25

Diane returned, having successfully shaken Angela off, to find her three daughters and three daughters-in-law (because really, what else would she call the adopted sister of her son?) sitting at one of the tables, laughing. “Now that’s a sight to warm a mother’s heart.” She circled the table to kiss each one of them on the forehead, which made them laugh more.

“You’ve picked up a couple extras,” an amused voice said from her left. She turned to see Iris’s mother Viola Gilbert approaching, her own mug of tea in hand.

Iris leapt up to hug her mother, Sarah following. “Mom! I thought you had the kids? You didn’t leave poor Dad with all dozen of them, did you?”

Viola laughed, and Natasha stared. It was a full, rich belly-laugh, joy given sound that made her feel… warm. “No. Your father got a call from Alex, who said the Inn was going to host the Snowball Olympics, and he fully expected all the grandchildren to participate, and would Jack like to be one of the referees? You know your dad, he couldn’t pass that up.”

“That notion has Clint all over it,” Natasha murmured.

“So, my dear… introduce me to your new sisters,” Viola said, beaming at them. It wasn’t entirely clear whether she was speaking to her daughter or daughter-in-law.

“Mom, this is Natasha – she’s Phil and Clint’s wife – and their adopted sister Catriona. This is my mom, Viola Gilbert,” Iris said immediately, beaming at her mother.

Natasha rose and offered her hand to Iris’s mother, who waved it away and wrapped her up in a hug instead. She was a plump woman – being hugged by her was softer than when Diane did it. Natasha relaxed against her, thinking that if Gaia had arms, this is what it would feel like. “Your turn then,” Viola said, turning to Catriona.

The druid rose as well and approached her shyly, hands extended. Whereas Natasha had been immediately charmed, Catriona felt unaccountably nervous. Viola blinked once before touching her palms to Catriona’s. “Blessings upon you,” Iris’s mother intoned. “Now can I have a hug?”

Ritual observed – and where did Viola learn that? – Catriona approached and was treated to the same all-encompassing embrace that she’d given Natasha – and had the same observation. This wasn’t just a mom – this was a Mother.

Viola released her, still beaming. “Welcome to the family. I’ve heard all about both of you, of course,” she said, sitting down next to Sarah at the table. “The twins can’t say enough good things about you, and you impressed Tommy something fierce. He’s still talking about the Final Battle of the Cat Warrior, you know.”

Natasha’s mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out. Iris – and Natasha blessed her mentally with fervor – answered instead. “Hopefully this year they’ll have new adventures to talk about… if you three and Catriona can handle all dozen of them? They’re a bit overwhelming, I know.”

“Och, aye,” Catriona answered, sitting back down and sipping her tea. It wasn’t terrible – though that was about the highest praise she could give it. “I would welcome a chance to romp with them all.”

“Perhaps it will grow to a baker’s dozen,” Viola suggested slyly.

“Mother!” Iris’s voice was sharper than usual. “I told you, the twins are enough.” From the surprise on Sarah’s face, that hadn’t been what Viola was suggesting.

“Be at ease,” Catriona murmured to Natasha, who sighed. “It would be of great favor to us – myself and Natasha – were we not to speak of future bairns. There are… complications.”

Viola exchanged a look with Diane before nodding. “Of course.”

Natasha sighed again. “It’s alright, deirfiur. I’m okay.”

“That word—” Catriona began, but caught sight of Natasha’s face and cut herself off. “Of course you are. Apparently, it is not only Coulsons who can be overprotective.”

Sarah snorted. “Like you’re not a Coulson.”

Catriona’s hand closed over her gold triquetra pendant. “Perhaps I am,” she agreed. 

~ * ~

Natasha wasn’t okay. Just once, she thought. Just once, she wanted to have a conversation with other women that didn’t make her feel wholly inadequate for not having a baby – for not having given that to her husbands. For not having “Mom” or “Mother” as one of the dozens of titles she bore, for not being woman enough to bring life into the world.

Just once.

\\\M’inion Nat, it would please me if you would hear me.//

Natasha’s hand stilled, coffee cup halfway to her lips. She continued the movement as smoothly as she could, hoping none of the women at the table noticed. {Always. I’m listening, Mother.}

\\\You are not inadequate, my daughter, any more than Catriona Alanna is. She has not borne children either, but that does not impact her value to me any more than it does yours. You are my Chosen Warrior, m’inion. Whether your future holds bairns or not, that does not change your value. Yes, I hope that you can bear a child someday – for yourself, for Boghdoir Barton, for Treorai Phil – but in no way do I find you lacking.// The Goddess’s voice softened, and a hint of humor seeped in. \\\Not even, as you so phrase it, for your ‘crippling self-doubt.’ I love you as you are. Your achroi ghra love you as you are. It would please me, were you to be able to love yourself as you are.//

{I’ll try, Mother.}

\\\That is all that I can ask for. Blessed be, M’inion Nat.//

The connection faded, and Natasha looked around the table again to see if anyone had noticed. Catriona caught her eye, one eyebrow lifting, but didn’t speak. Trust the druid to know she’d been speaking to the Goddess.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” Viola said quietly. Natasha turned to her, not realizing she’d moved from the seat beside Sarah to the empty chair to her left. “I didn’t mean to imply – well. Given the daggers my daughter was looking at me, I quite well put my foot in it, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Natasha started, then shook her head. “My sister hates it when I use that word.”

“Iris has rules about ‘fine’ as well,” Viola agreed, looking less worried.

“I wonder if that’s where Phil got the idea,” Natasha laughed. “Fine, stupid, and okay are on our list now. We hope to have a baby, someday – but… the work we do isn’t exactly conducive to family, and…” As much as she’d thought she didn’t want to talk about it, the openly sympathetic expression on Viola’s face made it easy to continue. “We aren’t… out, at work. We all work together, you know, and Phil’s our boss. People find out, things are going to change, and that change is probably going to involve one or more of us being unemployed.” She looked down into her coffee cup. “We do good work there. None of us are ready to give it up, yet. But… I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to keep it a secret, either. Nine of our coworkers know already – nine we consider family, but still – and Clint’s family, and Phil’s family, and…”

Viola nodded, patting Natasha’s hand. “It’s the not knowing that’s the worst, isn’t it? Not having a plan. Waiting for the tipping point of either people finding out, or you having to tell.”

“Yes.” Natasha looked at the hand on hers. “Are you where Iris gets it? This… knowing what to say thing?”

She laughed, patting Natasha’s hand again. “I don’t always know what to say, and neither does she – but she does come by it honestly. My father was a Cheyenne medicine man – any wisdom I have comes from him.”

“Lucky. My father sold me to the Red Room.” Natasha winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to – you’re damned easy to talk to.”

“I thank you for that, and you needn’t explain whatever that room is,” Viola said immediately. “I can tell from the glare your sister is giving me that it’s not something you talk of often, and I’d rather not earn her ire.”

Natasha glanced at Catriona, who modulated her intense stare to something more pleasant. “I don’t think any of us should twit any of the others for being protective anymore,” Natasha said mildly.

Catriona’s cheeks colored. “I will not apologize for caring about you, deirfiur.”

“Wouldn’t ask you to.” She leaned over and kissed Catriona’s forehead. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Darla watched her, head tilting to the left. “That’s still weird.” She caught the glare from her mother and shrugged. “It is!”

“What, you jealous, Dar?” Sarah sassed, then leaned over and smacked a noisy kiss on her oldest sister’s forehead. “There.” When Megan laughed, Sarah did the same to her.

“Girls,” Diane chided.

“Nope.” Sarah was unrepentant. “Just because it took an in-law and her sister to reveal how terribly bad we are at displaying affection does not mean you get to chastise me for it.” She reached for Iris’s hand.

“You need not –” Catriona began, but Sarah’s gaze turned to her.

“Didn’t do it because I needed to.” She half-rose, leaned over the table, and planted a kiss on Catriona’s forehead – leaned to one side and did the same to Natasha, nearly knocking over her coffee mug.

Natasha sat back, surprised and pleased. She didn’t know if it was genuine sentiment from Sarah or just an attempt to distract the table from the physical affection she showed Catriona, but it was… fun. She could see now where Rose and Lily got that endless fount of fun.

Sarah’s antics hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the Women’s Group, however. One of the younger women – closer to Darla’s age than Diane’s, Natasha judged – detoured from her path to the coffee to stand at the foot of the table, a smirk on her face. “Branching out, are you, Sarah?” The youngest Coulson sister glared at the newcomer, but didn’t respond.

It was Megan who spoke, in a syrupy sweet voice that boded no good. “Now then, Janet, there’s no need to be rude. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happy families look like?”

“Megan!” Diane chided immediately, but her eyes were sparkling.

Natasha ran the name through her memory banks, and came up with – “Janet Larson? Phil’s mentioned you.”

Janet’s face twisted. “Did he?” She canted one hip, unconsciously straightening her posture. “I hope you only believe the good parts,” she purred. Diane’s eyes darted from Janet to Natasha, wondering how much Natasha knew.

“I never doubt my husband,” Natasha said simply, and saw Janet’s eyes widen. Apparently, she hadn’t realized she’d been baiting her former flame’s new wife. “High school girlfriend, took you to senior prom – loved that pink frothy dress of yours, by the way. So feminine.”

Catriona’s eyebrows shot up. Coming from Natasha in this mood, ‘feminine’ was an insult. She put a hand on Natasha’s forearm, hoping to forestall actual violence. Janet’s eye fixed on the druid’s pale hand, and the smirk returned.

“One woman not enough for him?”

“Son of a bitch,” Sarah breathed, and she wasn’t the only one to curse.

Natasha had become rigidly still, her face set in the perfect expressionless mask she was taught in the Red Room. With precise care, she set her coffee mug aside and rose to her feet. Between her 5’ 7” frame and the black stilettos she wore, she towered over the interloper. Catriona had a sudden fear that her shoes held hidden weapons – but Phil would have thought of that, yes?

“Surely you wouldn’t be suggesting that Phil Coulson would cheat on his wife and husband?” Natasha asked in a low voice. “With his sister-in-law, no less? Agent Coulson, the most respected handler in –”

“Deirfiur.” She hadn’t meant to speak, but she didn’t think Phil or Clint would like to see Natasha spill professional secrets in a moment of pique.

“—the most respected handler in the most classified federal agency?” Natasha continued, without taking her eyes off Janet.

“Wife and husband?” Janet repeated, and Natasha’s focus narrowed even farther. If she’d been wearing a gun, it would have been in her hand. As it were, she had a hand on her hip, debating whether it was worth damaging her skirt to release the thin blade sewn into the seam. “I should have known he was a fucking—”

Whatever pejorative she’d been going to use died on her lips when Natasha pressed one long, manicured finger to them. “It is so important to your future that you not finish that sentence.”

“There’s no need for violence, is there?” Iris said, standing as well. “Janet was just leaving. Weren’t you?” She aimed that pointedly at the flushed woman. “You’ve made your point.”

Natasha eased back, forcing her hand away from the hidden blade. “As have I.” She shifted her weight, still poised for a fight but less likely to initiate one.

Janet fled.

It was several long moments before Natasha could resume her seat. She took Catriona’s hand under the table, needing the comfort and anchor that the druid provided. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Diane said with a small smile. “I don’t suppose anyone got that on video? Phil will be terribly upset that he missed it.” Natasha’s eyes darted to her, an eyebrow raised. “He’s no fan of Janet’s. She does this any time he’s home – tries to pin one of us on him, or, if he ventures out of the Inn, tries to corner him.”

Megan’s eyes hardened. “Showed up at the door in negligee, after Ken died.”

Natasha muttered something uncomplimentary in Russian. “Probably a good thing I didn’t know that earlier, or I’d have—” she shook her head. “I’d have broken something.”

“I got video,” Sarah said smugly. “Soon as she said something, I grabbed my phone. Didn’t know it was going to be that explosive, but…” she shook her phone over the table. “Not a bad Christmas present for big brother.”

~ * ~


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharper language than usual in this chapter, be forewarned.

At the overly cheery announcement by Angela that it was time to begin the pedicures, the various Coulson women paired off and headed to the lounge chairs. Catriona was eying the polish options with suspicion. “I still have not painted any,” she admitted. “Clint does mine.” She looked down at her gold toenails.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Darla promised. “And anyway, if you don’t get mine perfect, that’s fine. You can’t be much worse at it than Emily – my daughter, she’s nine? You met her last year.”

Catriona nodded. “Aye, but…”

“Relax,” Natasha advised from the next chair over. “Nobody expects you to be as good as Clint, not at first.”

“He paint yours, too?” Megan asked, dipping her hand in the tub of water to be sure it was warm. “Here, plop them in and I’ll start the scrubbing.”

“He does,” Natasha agreed, complying with Megan’s request. “Mine, Catriona’s, his own… Phil’s, on one losing bet.” She grinned. “Damn near got us caught at work, too – had a decontamination alert, and he had to strip his socks off. Thank the Goddess, no one noticed all three of us matched.” There was general laughter from Phil’s relatives. The chair to her left had Diane and Iris – on Catriona’s other side, Sarah and Viola were setting up.

Megan poured polish remover on a cotton ball and began to strip the purple off Natasha’s toes. “Clint wears polish?”

“Aye,” Catriona agreed, watching as Darla worked on her feet. She knew she wasn’t expected to be an expert, but she was hoping to pick up enough to not look like a complete novice when it was her turn to work on Darla. “Only on his toes, mind.”

“Regs,” Natasha said ruefully. “Toes are acceptable. Fingers are for missions only.”

“You’re here another, what, week?” Diane asked. “You could do your fingernails here.”

She blinked. “You’re right.” She peered down at her fingernails. “I’ll ask Clint if he brought the polish.”

“We’ve got polish,” Darla pointed out, waving at the colors strewn out.

To her shock, Natasha felt her cheeks redden. “Not his favorite purple.”

Catriona laughed, and kept laughing when Natasha’s embarrassment grew. “You are, as laoch beag says, so very married.”

“Is that the color Phil’s toes were?” Sarah asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, no. We found one that matched his eyes,” Natasha explained, cheeks still flaming. “That gorgeous shade of gray-blue – stop laughing!”

“His eyes are green, lovey,” Diane corrected, still laughing. “Hazel, as a matter of fact.”

“Um.” Darla cleared her throat. “Mom, you know they kind of change color, right? They always have. They’re… um… blue when he’s… happy.”

Diane looked startled. “I had forgotten that.” She paused. “You’ve never seen them green, have you, Natasha?”

Natasha thought about that seriously as Megan finished removing the polish and began exfoliating her heels. “Not… in a long time. I think, years ago…” she trailed off, trying to remember. “When Clint was shot, five years ago. He took a round – several rounds – to the thigh, cut through his femoral artery.” She paled, remembering it. “I held it in my hands, waiting for medics to arrive. Thought we’d lost him. We were both a little green by the time we got him into surgery.”

“I am sorry that I could not spare you that pain, deirfiur,” Catriona murmured. “You were not yet – neither yet – the Warriors you would become.”

“I know.” Natasha flashed a reassuring smile at the druid. “I’ve talked with Mother about it.”

“It’s… really nice, to see how much you love him – and Clint,” Megan said hesitantly. “I didn’t… understand, last year. We just got that glimpse, and…”

Natasha wanted to comment on how different Megan was in the presence of her husband, but didn’t feel like starting an argument. “Thanks, Meg.” She paused. “He was so nervous last year,” she laughed. “I’ve never seen him like that. Goddess, he wanted so badly for us to love you all – and for you to love us.”

“Phil? Nervous?” Viola laughed. “The one my grandsons call Agent Cool?” The fact that Darla’s two boys and Megan’s three weren’t actually related to her didn’t stop Viola from claiming them – or any of the other children in town that needed grandmothering. 

“Quaking in his loafers,” Natasha confirmed, with a fond smile. “He wanted… well, he wanted this.” She gestured at the gathering of them. “Clint and I didn’t… our pasts aren’t rosy, and we don’t… have… this. We have a family now, but…”

“But you didn’t then,” Diane supplied. “I remember that phone call, when he first told us about you – God, I was angry with him! Idiot boy thought keeping them a secret was a good idea,” she explained to Viola, who had raised her eyebrows. “He didn’t tell us until the day they got on the highway to visit last year!”

Catriona chuckled. “You failed to tell me that part, deirfiur. Is that what dhearthair meant, when he said treorai was repeating his mistakes?”

“Yep,” Natasha confirmed crisply. “Granted, we hadn’t been together that long – six months or so, really – and we didn’t buy our rings until after that call, but…”

“Wait, you married him – them – after six months?” Darla asked, raising a hand. “What the hell?”

She rolled her eyes. “We’d been partners a lot longer than that – field partners, handler. It wasn’t like we didn’t know each other, and with the achroi ghra bond—” she trailed off, not wanting to have to explain that. “At the time, there were four people I trusted to have my back in the field – Phil, Clint, and Maria. Clint was the first person I ever trusted. Phil was the second.”

“Ever?” Sarah repeated blankly.

“Ever,” Natasha confirmed, looking grim.

~ * ~

As the second half of each pair finished up with polish, it became obvious that the church hall was going to be used for another function – men and children began filtering in, moving chairs and packing away supplies.

Natasha realized, as she caught sight of a man near Phil’s age, that she’d never spent so much uninterrupted time in the company of only women. Not even for her slumber party – Phil and Clint had been in the house, and had come down more than once.

She was contemplating that when she noticed Catriona standing stock-still by the tea table – and she wasn’t alone. Towering over her (not, Natasha reflected, that it took much height to tower over the druid) was a man – younger than Phil but not a teenager. The druid was leaning backwards away from him, and Natasha could see he was speaking, but couldn’t hear him or get a clear enough view to read his lips. She edged closer, dodging a handful of children who were picking up nail polish from the various stations, and pricked her ears to catch his words.

“I bet you’re a tiger in bed, you little slut, with a fucking pervert sister – I bet you crawl into bed with them, too, just one big incestuous – ”

And then, he made a nearly-fatal mistake.

He touched her. Put his hand under Catriona’s elbow and squeezed, sending the druid’s expression from disgust to abject terror.

Natasha had moved before she’d made the decision. One hand reached for his hair, yanking his head back with enough force to tear scalp. The second grabbed for his elbow – the hand that dared touch the High Priestess of Gaia – and simultaneously fiercely jammed her fingertips into the radial pressure point and yanked his arm back. She kept pulling until his elbow was twisted behind his back, stepping up and forcing him into a hammerlock. “Apologize,” she demanded in his ear. He spat, narrowly missing Catriona, and Natasha forced his elbow up further until he was straining onto his toes, trying to relieve the pressure. “Apologize, or I break it.”

“Sorry!” he gasped, and she released him immediately, smoothly interposing herself between his shuddering form and Catriona.

“You alright, achara?” she asked in a low voice, putting a hand on Catriona’s shoulder.

Catriona did not have a chance to answer, because the shocked crowd – and there was, by now, a crowd – all began speaking at once. 

Adrenaline still high, Natasha turned to face the room, reaching behind her to be sure Catriona stayed in a protected space. The druid was too shaken to protest that. Her attacker stumbled to his left, nearly bowling over several ladies, before pointing an accusing finger at her. “That bitch attacked me!”

“You’re damned right, I did,” Natasha agreed coolly. 

Had either of her husbands or any other member of her clan been present, they would have recognized the superbly collected tone as a neon flashing warning sign – the last vestige of restraint, before Agent Romanoff disappeared and only the Black Widow remained. 

This man didn’t heed the warning.

“Call the fucking cops! She should be arrested!”

Whatever reaction he’d been expecting – or hoping for – the low, throaty laugh Natasha let out wasn’t it. “Go ahead. Call it in. We’ll see who they believe.” She raked her eyes over him – lingering on the torn knees of his jeans, the grease stains on his shirt. “A decorated federal agent with a clearance level higher than your IQ – not much of a stretch – and her titled, tenured professor sister, or you? Unless you want to be arrested for sexual harassment, assault, and battery – and find out just how far my husband’s influence reaches.”

“I don’t think we need to take it that far, do we?” Diane interrupted. She stepped forward – not quite between the man and Natasha, but closer to them than anyone else had dared. “Jonathan is just leaving, isn’t he?” She fixed the man with a maternal glare that, while not as potent as what Natasha was emanating, was nonetheless impressive. 

“Fucking bitch,” someone in the crowd muttered – not Jonathan, though it may well have been the thought in his mind.

Natasha laughed again, chilly and dangerous. “I promise you, you have no idea how much of a bitch I can be.”

~ * ~


	27. Chapter 27

“You should not have touched him!”

Diane rubbed her forehead as she ushered Iris, Sarah, and the loudly arguing Natasha and Catriona into the kitchen. The two redheads had been shouting at each other since the doors to the minivan had closed behind them, all in variations on the same theme.

“He fucking touched you, Catriona! I wasn’t going to let that slide!”

Phil and Clint were waiting in the kitchen – Clint had, of course, listened to the entire confrontation and ensuing argument, and informed Phil – but neither of them was prepared for the degree of fury in Catriona’s face. Natasha, yes – her temper was a known quantity.

Furiously spitting High Priestess of Gaia was a new one.

“You nearly broke your cover over nothing!”

“I told you, it wasn’t nothing! He scared you, don’t try to tell me he didn’t!”

“I can handle myself, thank you! I have been handling myself for more than two thousand years! That bloody, buggering maggot of a man was not worth your time!”

“He touched you!”

Phil took a deep breath and dived into the fray, stepping between Catriona and Natasha. “Alright, that’s enough.” He used his Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge voice, holding up a hand to each of the women. “Be quiet and breathe a moment, okay?”

Natasha’s murderous glare shifted from druid to husband, but she took a deep breath anyway. Catriona lowered her eyes, mouth pressed into a tight line, but didn’t speak again.

“Catriona, if you would be so kind as to make a pot of your headache tea, I believe several of us are suffering from one?” Phil asked politely. The druid’s head jerked in acknowledgement, and she stepped up to the sink to comply. “Natasha, my love…” He didn’t give her a task, just extended his hand to her. She stepped into his embrace but did not relax. “You don’t need my approval,” he murmured to her, voice pitched low to avoid it carrying to Catriona, “but if you want it, it’s yours. I’d have done the same damned thing, and might not have been able to stop.” Her eyes jerked to his. “Do you remember when we told the Scoobies, and Clint pinned Chuck to the wall? It scared me, because I didn’t think I’d have been able to stop him – remember?” She nodded, still silent. “Right now, our druid is scared witless that she wouldn’t have been able to stop you from killing him – and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some guilt in there, for wishing you had.”

She relaxed against him, and as she did the tension in the room plummeted. “Where is everybody?” Diane asked, when it appeared the immediate explosion had been diverted.

“Alex and Jack took the kids – all twelve of them! – for ice cream,” Clint said. “And by the way, Iris, your dad is awesome.” Clint turned wide eyes to her – not exaggerating his admiration in the slightest. He’d been skeptical, when Alex had suggested inviting the rest of the Coulson cousins to the snowball fight – twelve kids was a lot, even for Clint. The addition of another grandparent had eased his mind, and he’d been cool with the idea of just having another adult around until he’d actually met Jack.

He looked a lot like Padraig – that was Clint’s first impression. Weathered and worn, a little gnarled, and leaning on a cane – the picture of a retired farmer, put out to pasture and enjoying it. He’d stumped up the drive amongst the flutter of excited kids, and within ten minutes had everyone organized into teams and a set of rules announced and agreed upon.

Clint fell a little bit in love.

“I know, right?” Sarah grinned. “Jack is the bomb. Man’s got the patience of a saint, dealing with the whole crew, and never raises his voice.”

Iris flashed her wife an amused smile. “He doesn’t have to raise his voice. He just thumps that cane on the floor, and even the birds fall quiet.”

“Awesome,” Clint repeated with a grin. He mentally checked in with Natasha – still working on leveling out her adrenaline – and then meandered as casually as he could over to Catriona. “Can I help?” The druid looked up at him, still silent. She pointed to the cupboard where mugs lived, then at the table. He raised an eyebrow at her as he pulled out seven mugs, looping his fingers through the handles to carry all of them. Her silence unnerved him – even if she were still frightened, this wasn’t normal. Natasha hadn’t spoken aloud yet either, not since Phil had asked them to be quiet – 

“Ah, hell. Moonbeam, you need to tell them it’s okay to talk.”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up and the hand he’d been stroking down Natasha’s back froze. “Of course it’s okay to talk.”

“I would ask that you not use such a command on me again, taoiseach,” Catriona said immediately, her eyes downcast. “Please.”

“Command?” He looked down at Natasha, across to Catriona, then to Clint. “Did I… damn it.” He dropped his head, pressing his forehead against Natasha’s. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess we know it can be coercive,” Natasha murmured. Phil squeezed her gently.

Diane crossed her arms and glared at her son. “What did you do?”

It wasn’t Phil that answered, but Clint. “Part of the druid stuff, him being our clanchief, means he can do this… voice thing,” he explained – or tried to. “Simon says, on steroids. Cormac – one of the other druids, the dude that seems to know the most about chief stuff – told us Phil might be able to force obedience, but it’s not an area for experimentation, you know?”

“Great Good Goddess, I’m so sorry,” Phil repeated, his voice low. His distress thawed what little anger had stirred in Catriona, and she stepped behind Phil to wrap her arms around his waist.

Clint took her place next to the teapot, checking to see if it had steeped enough before carrying it to the table and carefully filling each mug. (He didn’t expect it to fill all of them – it wasn’t that big of a teapot, but to his surprise after each was full, there was still water in the pot. He assumed it was more pixie magic.) He handed a mug to Diane, who was looking pinched. “Drink this. It helps,” he urged, before doing the same to Sarah and Iris.

“Can we talk about this now, calmly?” Phil asked. He was careful not to phrase it as an order.

“Yes, loverling,” Natasha agreed. 

He felt Catriona’s head nod against his back. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Catriona, why don’t you start with why you’re angry at Natasha.”

The druid sighed and rubbed her cheek against Phil’s back. “You should not have made such a scene, deirfiur. That… odious example of humanity did not harm me, but word of your actions could cause harm.”

“How do you figure?” Sarah asked. 

“We are guests in this place,” Catriona explained patiently. “The Covenant of Hospitality states –”

“You are not a guest,” Iris interrupted. “You’re family. Rules of hospitality do not apply – not about this.”

It shouldn’t have surprised the druid that Iris knew of the Covenant, or at least had familiarity with guesting laws. “Still, to raise a hand against someone in your community –”

“He deserved it,” Sarah interrupted. “Jonathan’s as much a bully as his sister Janet, and if Nat hadn’t stopped him, I would have.”

Catriona made a sound of frustration that, in a larger person, probably would have been a growl. “It could reflect poorly on your family, treorai, to have brought conflict into a house of worship – ”

“Catriona.” Diane’s voice was calm, but steely. “I don’t think I’m alone in saying I don’t give a damn if every reservation on the books cancels tomorrow, if they’re people that would hold it against Natasha, for protecting you. He had no right to touch you – and you have every right not to be frightened here.”

“I kept my cool with Angela, and then with that vapid idiot Janet,” Natasha added into the quiet. “I’d have kept it with Jonathan, too, if he hadn’t touched you – if he hadn’t scared you. I saw your face, Catriona. You were terrified.”

“Aye,” the druid agreed with a long sigh. “But I feel my own fear is scarce reason to wield Her Gifts, M’inion Nat. It would be a dreadful burden, were my presence to cast shadows upon the Clan.”

“Your fear is plenty reason, little one,” Phil murmured. He twisted until he could hook an arm around Catriona’s waist. “And there are no shadows to cast – standing up against bullies is a long-established Coulson tradition.”

Natasha reached for Catriona as well, until the druid was pinned between her and Phil, with Clint stepping up to add his presence. “While there is breath in my body,” Natasha began, her eyes fixed on Catriona, “while there is strength in my arms, I will stand between you and danger. It is my task to be Gaia’s Sword, deirfiur. Just as you are Her Healer, Her High Priestess, I am her Warrior. And setting aside those vows – I could never stand aside when you are frightened.” She cupped her hand around Catriona’s cheek. “I never had blood sisters, so I don’t know if this is the same kind of love or not – but I know it’s real, and I’ll do anything in my power to protect it – and you.”

“And if you try and say you’re not worthy,” Clint muttered into the heavy silence, “I’ll put you in a headlock and give you a noogie.”

~ * ~


	28. Chapter 28

Alex returned with the twins – Jack and the other cousins having gone to their own homes for dinner – to find the seven adults sitting at the kitchen table quietly, drinking tea.

“I’m ordering pizza,” Diane told him when he entered. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Grandma?” Lily crossed to the table, wrapping one thin arm around Diane’s neck. “You always want to cook. Or bake.”

“Not tonight,” Diane disagreed, kissing the girl’s cheek. Lily didn’t look convinced, and traded glances with her twin.

Rose was frowning at her aunts and uncles. There was something… fragile… about them. It reminded her of when she’d seen Uncle Phil injured, but it wasn’t the same. Maybe it wasn’t a physical kind of injury? “Is this about Auntie Nat hitting Mr. Larson?”

“How did you…” Natasha began, then paused. “Jonathan Larson? Any relation to Janet?”

“Brother,” Phil supplied. “How’d you hear about it, Rosie?”

Despite the use of a nickname she wasn’t fond of, Rose answered promptly. “People were talking about it at the ice cream shop. Mr. Newhouse said that Mr. Larson got his comeuppance, and Ms. Morgan wanted to know if anyone got pictures. Nobody did, that I heard.”

Sarah chuckled. “Told you it wouldn’t be seen as a bad thing, Nat. Nobody likes Jonathan. He’s a slimy – slug,” Sarah amended her original epithet with a grimace. “You hear anything else, girls?”

Lily tugged at Diane until she could climb into her grandmother’s lap. “Somebody tried to call Aunt Catriona a bad name, and Mrs. Donovan slapped their head.”

Iris raised an eyebrow at Lily’s editing – doubtless the girl knew which ‘somebody’ had spoken out of turn, but didn’t want to add to the drama. “And what do you think, about what happened?”

The twins exchanged a look, and by some unseen signal, Rose was elected to speak. “I think Auntie Nat can be pretty scary when she needs to be – and she needed to be.”

“Mr. Larson likes to frighten people,” Lily added. “I’ve never seen him touch anybody like that, though. He’s big, and he gets that angry look on his face if you don’t answer him – I’d have been really scared.”

“I was,” Catriona admitted softly. “Quite.”

“So… we think Auntie Nat did the right thing, and we’re really glad you’re okay,” Rose finished, speaking directly to Catriona. “And if Mr. Larson ever comes near you again, I’m going to kick him in the nuts.”

“Rosalie!”

Rose glared at Iris. “I’m not sorry, Momma.”

Phil tried to contain his chuckle. In the distant future when he was a parent, he didn’t think he’d appreciate anyone mocking his parenting difficulties but… the laughter bubbled up anyway. “Sorry, Iris,” he managed. “Just – it’s like talking to myself at that age. You remember that fight with Doug Spinner, Mom?”

Diane chuckled. “I do.” She turned to Iris, who still looked outraged. “At least neither of your girls has acted, yet. Phil caught Doug putting itching powder into Darla’s gym bag, and instead of reporting it to a responsible adult like he should have,” she pinned him with a fierce glare, which he grinned at, “he decided to mete out punishment himself.”

“So I very carefully picked at the seams of his gym clothes, just enough so that once he’d been out on the field for a while… they’d fall apart,” Phil supplied with a laugh. “Didn’t hurt him, but he got called Skinner for the rest of the year.”

“That is way different, Uncle Phil,” Lily chided. “Itching powder is annoying, but it doesn’t make you afraid somebody’s gonna hurt you.” She glanced at Catriona. “And if a big guy touched my arm like that, I’d be pretty afraid he was gonna… do bad things.” No one in the room doubted that she meant sexual assault – that she knew what those bad things were, and chose not to speak of them and distress her family further. She turned her eyes to Iris. “Momma, if I think someone’s gonna do bad things to me, I’m gonna kick him in the nuts, too.”

“Alright.” Iris held her hands up in surrender. “Alright. I’d rather you find some other way to solve conflict, but…”

Alex cleared his throat. “What would you do after you kicked him?”

Rose met his eyes. “Run away, as fast as I could, and scream the whole time until I found a cop. I remember the lesson, Grandpa.”

“Or an Agent,” Phil added. “Or a Druid – or a Warrior.”

“You run to somebody with a weapon,” Natasha advised. There wasn’t any teasing in her voice, and she was making eye contact with both girls in turn. “You run like hell, until you find somebody with a gun or a knife, and you get behind them. You shout and you holler and you cry, and you make damned sure they can’t ignore you. And when you get to a phone, you call one of us,” she gestured at herself, Phil, and Clint, “and no matter where you are or what kind of trouble you think you’ll be in for being there, we’ll get you out. Might yell at you later,” she added with a small smile, “depending on where exactly you were and what you were doing, but not until you’re safe. Got it?”

“Yes, Auntie Nat.” Rose reached out, and Natasha cuddled the girl into her lap, looking across the table to her twin.

Lily was watching Auntie Nat – and thinking. There’d been a weird color around her eyes when she’d spoken – not one Lily remembered seeing before. But she thought it meant that sometime, maybe when Auntie Nat had been their age, she hadn’t been able to get out.

~ * ~

After pizza had been ordered, delivered, and eaten, they piled in to the living room with a stack of DVDs and bowls of popcorn.

“I like this part,” Natasha murmured.

“I haven’t even started the movie yet, lovey,” Diane said absently, manning the remote.

“No, I meant… this part of Christmas, of being a family.” She was half-embarrassed to say it aloud. 

Rose grinned at her. She’d taken about thirty seconds to announce she was sitting with Auntie Nat, so Uncle Phil and Uncle Clint had better share. Now she squeezed Natasha around the waist. “You like the cuddles.”

“I’m telling the Scoobies,” Clint said solemnly. “They’ll never believe me.”

“Oh, hush,” she said, swatting at him. “The girls already know. We cuddled at the slumber party, remember?”

“And Lance and Chuckles,” Phil added, smiling at Clint. “Lance cuddled you on the flight out to New Mexico.” Alex coughed and tried to smother it. “It’s okay, Dad. It was an odd situation. I couldn’t be there, so Lance offered a shoulder.”

“Wonder how Christmas at the Mackeys is treating Angie,” Natasha murmured. Clint raised an eyebrow. “What, I can’t worry about the kids too?”

Diane laughed. “You call them the kids?”

“Uh…” Clint bit his lip. “Yeah, we do. Well, the Scoobies. I don’t think of Maria as a kid, do you?” He turned to Phil, who shook his head. “Just, you know – they’re younger, and junior, and…”

Phil soothed him with a hand on his cheek. “It’s meant with affection,” he said to his mother, though his eyes were on his husband. “There’s a thought that, maybe someday, they won’t be a squad anymore – won’t be SHIELD. And it would be awkward to call them Scoobies, then.”

“It’s not awkward now?” Alex asked carefully.

Natasha chuckled. “Doesn’t matter, they’re not going to get all of SHIELD to stop calling them that. The Director did it last week in a briefing – at that point, you just have to grin and bear it.”

“Were you guys in a squad with a name?” Lily asked.

“Nope.” Clint hooked Catriona around the waist when she tried to settle onto the floor and swung her up into his lap. Phil pulled her feet onto his lap next to Natasha’s. Lily sat on the floor in front of Clint and Catriona, relaxing when she felt one of the druid’s hands come to rest on her shoulder.  
“This super smart handler I got assigned to figured out pretty fast that I didn’t work well in a group.”

“You do alright,” Phil said wryly.

“Now,” Clint retorted.

“I got paired with Clint pretty fast, when I joined SHIELD,” Natasha added, before her husbands could continue to needle each other. “I don’t know why – I wouldn’t think pairing two misfits together would be recommended –”

Phil pinched her hip. “Not misfits. Unusual agents. I had hoped you’d balance each other out.” He smiled at her, eyes twinkling. “And I enjoyed watching.”

“Gross,” Rose said, nudging him with her feet.

They’d watched all of one movie (Disney’s animated Robin Hood, Clint’s pick for the night) and were partly through another (one of the Sean Connery Bond films, Natasha’s choice) when Phil’s cell phone rang.

Diane paused the movie as Phil dug the phone out of his pocket and extracted himself from the couch. He glanced at the display. “What can I do for you, Misty?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

He frowned again, this time at her tone. “I always answer this phone, grasshopper.” She made a small noise he couldn’t classify. It was true – he hadn’t even brought his SHIELD-issued phone downstairs. This phone – the number he gave his clan – never left his side, and never went unanswered. He might sleep through a message notification, but he would never ignore it. “What’s wrong?”

She heaved a sigh, and Phil had to stomp hard on his instincts to keep from asking again. “Maria told me she’d talked to you.” 

“Ah.” He stepped into the hallway, waving away concerned looks from his family. He flashed a field sign to Clint before shutting the door behind him and giving Misty his full attention. “Are you upset with her?”

“No!” Her denial was immediate. “I just… I needed…”

He released the breath he’d been holding, but didn’t give word to his relief. Instead, he slipped back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “You needed family.”

Misty let out a long breath. “Yeah. How do you do that, sensei? Are you like a walking Wikipedia for fucked up agents?”

Phil laughed, careful to keep it light. He didn’t want Misty to hear pity – or anything she could mistake for pity. “I’m your clanchief, remember? I’m pretty sure it’s in the job description, to figure out what’s tying you in knots.”

She was quiet a moment. “I wish I was there, or you were here. I could really use a hug.”

He heard the tears in her voice, and wished fervently that he could plane-walk as Catriona did. “I wish I could give you one, grasshopper.” He waited a beat. “Are you still at Maria’s apartment?”

“No.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to crowd her. She’s not – she’s really private.”

“Private doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, Misty.”

“I know.” He heard her sigh again, and a rustling noise that he thought was her running a hand through her hair. “I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry.”

This time Phil sighed. “Don’t apologize, grasshopper. I don’t mind being needed.” He smiled, hoping she could hear it in his voice. “Besides, it gives me a break from watching my wife drool over James Bond.”

It startled a laugh out of her, as he’d intended. “What, Clint doesn’t drool too?”

“He prefers Craig Bond, and Nat picked Connery Bond. He’s pouting.” Phil chuckled. “It’s his own fault, he picked an animated movie for his choice – he could have had eye candy, too.”

“What’s your pick?”

“Haven’t decided yet. My turn isn’t until tomorrow, anyway – can’t keep the twins up all night. Not that having a movie on will keep them awake – Rose is half asleep on Natasha, and I think the only reason Lily is still awake is to keep an eye on Catriona.”

Misty chuckled. “Adopted or not, she sounds a lot like you, sensei.”

“Nat’s made that comment, too.” He laughed with her. “You feeling any better, laoch beag?”

“Yeah.” She let out a breath, and Phil could see in his mind’s eye her bangs fluttering when she did it. “I’m going to call Maria. No – I’m just going to go over there. I don’t really want to be alone in my apartment right now.”

“Sounds like a plan. I mean it, Misty – call me whenever you need me.” He wasn’t sure if his command voice worked over the phone, and was even less sure if he wanted it to. “If you don’t want to interrupt, you can message me – but I will get back to you. I promise.”

She hummed in agreement. “It’s a good thing I know your wife could filet me with a butter knife, or I might fall in love with you, sensei.”

Privately, he didn’t think so – he rather thought her heart was edging towards a different union. “I love you too, grasshopper.” He heard a muffled curse and chuckled. “Sorry, I know you’re allergic to emotions. Blame it on my family – I spent today having a snowball fight with all twelve nieces and nephews. It’s hard to be stoic Agent Coulson when I’ve been Uncle Phil all day.” He paused, and let seriousness creep back into his tone. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

Misty let out the breath she’d been holding. “Yeah. I know. Just… surprised me, to hear you say it.” Her tone turned dry. “We don’t say that shit, sensei.”

Phil laughed – the full, unrestrained laugh that was so rare. “I know. We can go back to not saying it.” So long as he knew that she’d heard him when she needed to hear it. “Give my best to Maria.”

“Will do.”

~ * ~


	29. Chapter 29

Christmas Eve Eve, as Clint insisted on referring to the 23rd, began with the scent of apple pie.

It woke Clint – later than his spouses, but earlier than if left to his own devices – and he wandered downstairs in a ragged set of SHIELD sweats. To his surprise, it wasn’t Diane manning the oven.

“Hey!” He stepped up behind Catriona and hugged her, careful not to jostle her arms mid-stir. “Whatcha making, sis?”

She flashed an absent smile at him over her shoulder. “Pie, dhearthair – Diane made pie last year, I thought I would return the favor.” There were smudges of flour on her face, a swipe of something sticky across the bridge of her nose. “Once I began, it rather…”

“Snowballed?” he asked drily, looking at the countertops. There was pie, yes – it was sitting on a cooling rack – but there were also at least three trays of cookies ready to go in the oven, and a bowl of what he thought was bread dough in her hands. “You’re as bad as Phil.”

“Aye, but one cannot measure my stress level by the chocolate content of my products,” she said cheekily, stretching on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Would you like to help?”

He eyed the mess. “Depends on how badly I can screw it up.” She laughed. “How about if I take KP?”

“I would be grateful for any assistance,” she said solemnly, then dashed a flour-covered finger down his nose.

He ducked – she still managed to powder him – and grabbed another apron from the drawer, laughing as he tied it on. “You’re in a mood this morning.” Shortly, he was elbow deep in soap suds, watching her as she shaped dough into pretzels.

She was humming as she worked, neatly twisting dough into the familiar crossed shape. “I am indeed. I did not think it possible that I would enjoy this holiday season more than our last but – I am.” She flashed him a smile. “I discussed it with Mother – it is entirely possible that I have never had a more joyous Yuletide, and I am resolved to savor it.”

“You and me both.” Clint scrubbed thoughtfully. “I don’t remember a better one, either. And we haven’t even gotten to the presents!” Catriona made a noise of protest and he laughed. “I was teasing, sis. I know it’s not about the presents – although I am wicked excited to give them.”

“As am I.” She twisted another pretzel, placing it just so on the baking sheet with a small sound of contentment.

The doorbell rang, dragging Clint out of the fuzzy pleasantness of family time and back to something of an alert. He heard footsteps in the hall, and Diane opening the door – and then felt an intense, almost burning sensation along his forearm.

He abandoned dishes and druid immediately, moving towards the hallway as the adrenaline brought everything tighter into focus. He could hear Natasha join him – physically and telepathically – and knew Phil was just behind her. As one, the three agents turned into the hallway, braced for trouble.

Diane glanced back over her shoulder and sighed. “Ratchet down the threat level, loveys. You’re not helping our case.”

Standing on the porch was a woman approximately Phil’s age, in a dull grey suit and carrying a briefcase. Her expression was faintly apologetic, layered over an efficiency that Phil could respect, even if he immediately rejected the necessity. “Miss Phillips,” he greeted her with a nod. At his words, Natasha let her hand relax from her hidden sheath, and saw Clint ease back from the fighting stance he’d adopted.

“Mr. Coulson.” Her response was equally formal.

“Agent,” Natasha corrected firmly. “Agents Coulson, Barton, and Romanoff.” She took in the details – clean suit, but not new. Scuffs on the shoes. Semi-precious jewelry. Calluses like Lance’s, from hours holding a pen. Bureaucrat, she decided – not federal, not paid well enough. State, then – and the pieces slid into place. “CPS?”

Clint’s expression hardened. He had no fondness for child protective services – had never met a social worker worth the name. In a heartbeat, he went from pulling back to stepping in front of his spouses, eyes hard.

“Office of Children’s Services. My name is Caroline Phillips. Our agency received a report that there was someone in the household that could be considered a threat to the children…” The woman trailed off, looking at Diane. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Coulson. I have to follow-up.”

Diane stifled another sigh. “Come on into the kitchen, then. I’ll go find the girls.”

Phil shot out his hand to prevent Clint from following his mother and the social worker. “Clint.” He didn’t know what else to say – half worried that Clint would antagonize Miss Phillips, half worried that the presence of the social worker would send him into another episode.

“Don’t.” Clint evaded Phil’s touch, standing just far enough away from his spouses not to come in contact with either of him.

The physical rejection hit Phil solidly in the chest, and the air whooshed out of him. Clint never pushed him away – never avoided his touch. Hadn’t even before they were together – to watch him dodge the simple contact made him dizzy. Little flickers of blackness teased at the corners of his eyes.

Clint glanced at his expression, then away. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t take any focus away from the enemy – the infiltrator threatening his family. He ignored both Phil and Natasha and stalked into the kitchen, moving to lean against the back door. From there, not only did he have a clear egress but he could see the entire room – long dining table and open kitchen. Diane had seated the social worker at the table and poured a cup of coffee. Catriona was still at the kitchen counter, and he thought she was frightened by the stranger. Ordinarily, that would be enough to draw him out of mission mindset and to her side, but he couldn’t allow her to split his focus, either. Idly, he was aware that Natasha was trying to contact him through their mind-link, but he shut that down as well. Nothing existed except his target. There was absolutely no way in hell that bitch was going to take his nieces away, stuff them in some fucking group home or foster-hell-hole. 

She’d be dead before she crossed the threshold with them.

Phil entered the kitchen a moment later, rubbing at his chest. He didn’t try to make eye contact with Clint, just stepped up to Catriona and murmured to her. “Social worker. They got a call about Natasha, about yesterday. I’m going to need you to stay calm, alright?” She jerked a nod, eyes wide. “Clint is… reacting badly. I don’t think commanding him could possibly end well, so I’m counting on you to help me out, okay?” He didn’t care that it sounded like he was coaxing a recalcitrant child – at the moment, it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Of course, treorai,” she whispered in response. 

There was a stir at the entryway, and Natasha entered with Rose and Lily, Diane following them with their mothers. Rose stopped dead at the sight of the social worker, her eyes darting to Sarah and Iris.

“Merry Christmas, Rosalie, Lilabeth,” Caroline Phillips said politely. “I’m sorry to have to visit unannounced. I hope you’re having a lovely Winter Break.”

“We were,” Rose muttered, and Phil had to stifle a smile. Goddess, he loved that child. 

“Would you introduce me to your guests?” the social worker prompted, her eyes touching on each unfamiliar face.

“They’re not guests, they’re family.” Rose’s correction was sullen, and Natasha tugged gently on her hand. The girl looked up at Natasha and grimaced. “Sorry, Auntie Nat.” She squeezed her aunt’s hand before looking back to the social worker. “This is my Auntie Nat.” She pointed to Clint. “That’s my Uncle Clint. They’re married to Uncle Phil.” Her finger shifted to Catriona. “That’s my Aunt Catriona, she’s Auntie Nat’s sister.” The young girl knew better than to try and explain the druid’s somewhat complicated kinship to the triad. “This is Miss Phillips,” she said to Natasha. “She’s our case worker.”

Natasha eyed the stranger, letting her expression slip closer to Black Widow. “And what brings your case worker to the Inn, two days before Christmas, alanna?”

Caroline frowned. Though the lithe redhead’s face was impassive, the tone she used when speaking to Rose was affectionate. The endearment surprised her more – Rose uniformly rejected terms of affection from those outside her immediate circle. Caroline had been forced to field a number of complaints over the years when the girl had reacted poorly to being called ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart’ by her teachers.

“She’s here about Mr. Larson, isn’t she?” Lily asked softly. Her eyes shifted to Catriona’s, and the blonde girl abandoned Natasha’s hand to reach instead for the druid.

“I am, yes,” Caroline agreed. Experience taught her that dissembling with the girls led to increasingly stilted responses, when she could convince them to respond at all. They did not care for being coddled.

Catriona looked stricken, and was trying to pull her High Priestess mask on in the face of the stranger. Unfortunately, wearing a flour-dusted apron and green silk pajamas did not give her the same physical presence as her druidic robe. “I feared that ill would come of that confrontation.” Her voice was quiet and resigned.

Natasha’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t try to take the blame for this, deirfiur. There’s only one person to blame, and it sure as h—it isn’t you.” She censored herself at the last moment, and Rose squeezed her hand in thanks.

“Maybe it would be best if we let Miss Phillips ask the questions she needs to?” Iris suggested calmly. She nudged Sarah into a seat, turning to do the same to Diane.

Phil was impressed enough to make a mental note about having her teach the Scoobies about conflict de-escalation.

“Right. Thank you, Iris.” Caroline smiled briefly at Iris before giving them a sharp nod. “A report was filed yesterday evening with our agency, stating that a guest at the Inn had used physical violence against a member of the community without provocation, and the complainant feared that Rosalie and Lilabeth were in danger of either physical violence against themselves, or being negatively impacted by the use of violence to resolve conflict.”

Natasha’s hand gripped Rose’s convulsively, but she forced herself to answer in a cool, professional tone. “Without provocation, hmm?” Her eyes shot to Sarah. “Now I wish you had caught it on video.”

“I wish that for plenty of reasons,” Sarah agreed ruefully. “Alright. Let me translate to plain talk, for those that don’t speak bureaucrat -- one of the old biddies was looking for an excuse to file a complaint again, and seeing my hot new polygamous in-law pin that freak was the perfect pretext.”

Phil winced. “Sarah…”

Caroline waved a hand. “She isn’t wrong, Agent Coulson, and I’m used to her bluntness.” She shifted her attention back to Natasha. “You aren’t denying that you struck Mr. Larson?”

“I am not, and if my sister would press charges, I’d have him arrested for harassment and assault.” Caroline’s eyebrows jumped and she shifted her gaze to Catriona.

The druid’s hand tightened on Lily’s. “I cannot, deirfiur. You know that I cannot.” Her eyes pleaded with Natasha to understand. Far and above not wanting to bring trouble upon Phil’s family, she did not want to be drawn into public record if she could avoid it – finding any suitable way to explain her identity would be a nightmare.

Natasha’s expression softened. “I know. I get it. I’m not mad.”

Caroline sipped her coffee to stall for time as she absorbed the difference in Natasha’s demeanor. One moment she was a lioness prepared to defend a cub with bared tooth and claw – the next, she was a supporting sister with no qualms about putting someone else’s piece of mind over her own pride.

As usual, exposure to the Coulson family kicked her ever-present tension headache from mildly annoying to nearly debilitating. She set her coffee mug down and rubbed her temple. “I take it you were provoked?” Caroline wasn’t sure why the details of the event mattered to her – it wasn’t as if her superiors cared any farther than having met their due diligence.

After exchanging a long glance, Catriona spoke. “He – Mr. Larson – was speaking to me in a most crude manner, which I could readily dismiss. His hand cupping my elbow, and that finger stroke of his –” She shivered. “I could not.”

“He touched her,” Natasha said shortly. “He scared her. I made him stop. I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

“She is skilled enough to have stopped his advance, without bloodshed,” Phil added. The social worker’s eyes slid to him. He was aware of his reputation with her agency – he’d been one of the character references for the twins’ adoption. He had called in enough favors that, by the time he spoke to an individual case worker, the entire organization was aware that the clandestine service he belonged to had put their full and not inconsiderate support behind him.

“I see.” Caroline didn’t, really, see. She knew he was supposed to be a secret agent, and he moved like a soldier – she’d seen enough servicemen and women to be familiar with the gait. She wasn’t sure how the secret agent thing fit in with this polyamorous thing he had going – and that thought sent her eyes to their still-silent third.

Clint met her gaze steadily, his focus unabated. He’d listened to the discussion without comment because it didn’t matter to him what was said – only what she did. One move towards either girl… 

Lily, her eyes going to Clint when her case worker’s had, blinked at the picture he presented – not the one visible, but the other one. She released Catriona’s hand and crossed to Clint. She didn’t give him a chance to object, just wrapped her arm around his waist and wedged herself between him and the door – almost hiding behind him.

He sagged from his parade-group posture, twisting slightly so that he could pick her up properly. At twelve she was really too large to settle on his hip like he would Cooper, but he did it anyway. Lily wrapped one trusting arm around his neck and burrowed her cheek against his shoulder. The other hand she pressed to his heart, and focused on keeping her breathing even. “It’s okay, Uncle Clint,” she whispered to him. “Miss Phillips isn’t going to take anybody away – not me, not Rose, and not you.” Phil’s breath hissed out, and Natasha jerked back, hand coming up to block a blow that was purely emotional. 

Clint’s legs gave out, and he slid down onto his knees down the door, keeping Lily pressed tight to him. “How do you do that?” he mumbled in her ear. “How the hell do you know what to say?”

The blonde smiled sweetly up at him, carefully hiding her sadness for him. “Mama mojo.” That startled a laugh out of him, which cut the tension by half.

“Okay,” Clint said, brushing Lily’s hair back from her face. “Okay. I’m okay.” He directed that at Phil. “Sorry.”

“No apologizing for what was done to you,” Phil said automatically, darting a look at the social worker when he realized what he’d said. “Beg your pardon, Miss Phillips. It has been an eventful few days.”

“I gathered that.” Caroline Phillips was no fool, and she was no first-year social worker. She left her eyes on Clint, waiting until he met them to ask quietly, “How many homes?”

He flinched. “Six in two years.” 

She nodded slowly. That would mean he’d been a trouble placement – which explained his reactions to her, and a good portion of the protectiveness she could almost see radiating off of Agent Coulson. “Lily and Rose had one temporary home before they came to the Coulsons,” she said conversationally, picking up her coffee and sipping. “I fought tooth and nail to keep them in the same one, and I fought like hell again to make sure they got placed here, and their adoption pushed through. I put too damned much work into getting them here to try and take them away, Agent Barton.”

That argument was more solid than any touchy-feely crap, Clint decided. She looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t tolerate seeing her work go to waste. “Okay.” A wry smile lit his face. “I bet you thought Nat was the possible timebomb, not me.”

Phil glared at him. “Neither one of you are a threat to any of the children,” he said firmly in his Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge voice.

“I agree,” Caroline said. His eyes locked on her, one eyebrow raised. “I knew that before I got here, Agent Coulson, but I had to do my due diligence. I cannot appear to favor your family.”

“Even if you do?” Natasha guessed, her lips twitching.

“Especially since I do.”

~ * ~


	30. Chapter 30

Clint remained on the floor as the social worker finished up her questions and her coffee. Diane escorted her to the front door with proper pleasantries. Lily made no move away from him – her head against his shoulder, her hand still pressed over his heart.

When the social worker was gone, Phil approached slowly, crouching down in front of him. The touch of his fingers on his cheek was feather-light. Clint closed his eyes and leaned into it. Phil let out a breath. “Lily-love, do you suppose I could steal my husband from you?”

Lily looked at Phil, eyes sharp, then back at Clint. She nodded finally and unwound herself. “I’m going to go read in the living room.” She leaned down and kissed Clint’s cheek. “If you need me.”

Clint didn’t say anything as she left, but let Phil pull him back to a standing position and lead him upstairs. Natasha waited for them in the Blue Room. She had changed back into her pajamas – a ridiculous Captain America themed fleece set that always made Phil laugh – and slid into the bed. She lifted the covers and Clint joined her, easing onto his back with a long sigh. “I shouldn’t be this tired,” he grumbled.

Phil didn’t answer, taking his time changing back into the lounge wear he’d worn to bed – another set of SHIELD sweats – before sliding in next to Clint and wrapping an arm around him. He burrowed his face in Clint’s neck, feeling hot tears prick.

“Hey, what’s this?” Clint asked, startled. He shifted until he could wrap both arms around Phil, Natasha reaching around him to touch their distressed husband as well. “We’re okay, Moonbeam.”

“Goddess, I hate that word,” Phil muttered. The tears redoubled, and he had to fight to keep from openly sobbing.

Clint was utterly baffled. He’d seen Phil cry before, of course – but he couldn’t figure out what had triggered this. It wasn’t like his foster history was news… yeah, he figured that knowing he was scared of the social worker was probably fresh intel, but that shouldn’t make Phil this… bereft. “I don’t know what to do,” Clint admitted, running strong hands down Phil’s back. “I’m sorry, love, but I have no idea what I did to bring this on, and no idea how to fix it.”

“You… pulled away, in the hall,” Phil managed finally. “Wouldn’t let me comfort you and…”

“Ah, hell.” Clint tightened his grasp, tucking Phil as close to him as possible. Natasha slid lithely over both of them until she could wrap around Phil’s back. “I’m so sorry, Phil. It wasn’t… I couldn’t have stayed focused on the target if you touched me, you know? You break through all my barriers, and I needed – thought I needed them then.” He kissed Phil’s temple, tenderness welling up in him faster than anger had.

“You scared me.” Natasha’s voice was quietly intense. “I could see into your mind, but it was like you couldn’t hear me.”

“I could hear, just not…” Clint trailed off. “I just couldn’t let myself listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect – I haven’t run into CPS since then, not face-to-face. I’m not around a lot of families where it’s a thing, you know? And if we’re in the field and it comes up, I tend to find a vantage point and keep a gun on ‘em, and it helps.” He chuckled wryly. “Never had reason to work on that particular fear. Got pretty damned good reason, now. If that Miss Phillips hadn’t already known our family – fuck, that could have gone pear-shaped fast.”

Tension flooded out of Phil so abruptly it left him light-headed. “One word,” he mumbled into Clint’s neck. “How can you turn me inside out with one word?”

“Which word, Moonbeam?”

“Our,” Phil repeated, raising his head enough to kiss Clint’s lips. “Our family.” 

Natasha squeezed Phil’s waist. “Better, loverling?”

He twisted, capturing her lips as well. “Yes.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I need a nap.”

“Fuck, yes,” Clint agreed fervently. 

~ * ~

Clint wasn’t sure how long they’d been back in bed – long enough for Nat and Phil to fall asleep, at any rate – when his phone rang. He extracted himself from the bed as he silenced it, turning back to check that they were still asleep as he padded barefoot into the hall. “Barton.”

“It’s CJ.”

Clint blinked, pulled the phone away from his ear to check, and then said blankly, “Hi.”

An embarrassed chuckle came through the speaker. “Sorry, I know this is probably weird.”

“No, it’s okay.” Clint sat down with his back against the wall by their bedroom door. “Just, you know. Normally when a Scooby calls, they want Phil. Did you dial the wrong number?”

“Man, my therapist would have a field day over that answer, Barton. No, I called you.” CJ sounded vaguely amused at him, which was a plus.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but… why?”

CJ laughed this time. “Can’t I want to call my mentor and check in?”

“Uh, no. First off, you’ve never called me before and second… you don’t even like me.”

The laughter cut off. “I like you fine, Clint. I’m sorry if I haven’t made that clear, and damn, I sound like Coulson right now.”

Clint closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. “There are worse people to sound like.”

“True.” He paused, giving Clint a chance to jump in, but carried on when the archer didn’t say anything. “As for never calling, I got this feeling. It sounds stupid, but I mentioned it to Sam and she said you guys get some sort of bat-signal from the mothership so I shouldn’t ignore it so… I called.”

Warmth flooded Clint, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. “You got a Gibbs gut feeling, and had to call your fucked-up sniper teacher?”

“I felt a disturbance in the Force, and had to check in with my clan. Don’t be an ass, Clint.”

Laughter bubbled up against his will. “Yeah, okay. Goddess, you’re one of the few people I know that can shut me down like that.”

“Nice to know that drama shut-downs are my superpower.”

Clint grinned. “They’re a damned good one. I heard you talk Nat down, during the Culver Clusterfuck. Not a whole hell of a lot of people with the balls to talk to her like that, either.”

“I’m not sure that’s balls,” CJ said drily. “That might have been sheer ignorance. I hadn’t seen her use her skills outside the training rooms until then. I don’t know I’d say the same thing again.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Clint sighed. “We’re all better at this teaglach thing now. Better at being in the field together, trusting each other. At least…” he trailed off. “Well, we try. I fucked up on that today.” CJ made an inquiring noise, and Clint grunted. “Nat and Catriona had an incident yesterday at a church gathering that made Nat put a guy in a hammerlock, and—”

“Are they both okay?”

The interruption, which would have been an irritation usually, soothed Clint. The concern in CJ’s voice was genuine, and so welcome it made Clint tear up. “Yeah. Catriona was scared, but the guy didn’t get a chance to do much more than touch her elbow. Nat didn’t kill him, either – and we were damned proud of her for that. But some busybody called CPS, and the twins – they’re adopted out of foster care, I think I told you that – their case worker showed up today.”

CJ whistled. “Damn.” He’d had his own interactions with CPS, and had no love lost for the breed either. 

“That about sums it up. Except I… umm…” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair, embarrassment rippling in his voice. “I kind of freaked out, and went into full-on Agent mode, thinking I had to protect the girls from her, and I completely blocked out Phil and Nat and…”

“Did anybody get hurt?”

“What? No.” That startled Clint. “No, Lily – one of the twins – figured out I was scared, because she’s like the feelings version of a fucking ninja, and she managed to talk me down before I did anything. And the case worker has apparently dealt with these complaints before. Their church seems cool with it, but from stuff Phil’s said, I’m guessing there’s some people in town not keen on the girls being adopted by a lesbian couple.”

There was a pause, and Clint thought he heard a soda can open – or beer, but it was barely noon. “I want to meet this girl.”

Clint laughed and tried to stifle it, not wanting to wake his spouses from their nap. “They’re pretty awesome. Rose – the other twin – she trails after Natasha like the sun rises and sets on her. Not that it doesn’t,” Clint added, grinning. “And they’re both teaching her how to have fun. We should do something fun this afternoon,” he said distractedly. “I owe them one.”

“They got a skating rink around there?” CJ suggested. “I always liked skating.”

“It’s Wisconsin, I expect there’s a hockey goal set up on every piece of flat, frozen lake,” Clint said drily. “Alex – Phil’s dad – can talk about hockey like Phil can about Captain America. You should have seen the look on his face when Catriona pronounced it ‘rugby, with knives on your boots.’ I thought he was going to have a coronary.”

CJ laughed, and Clint reflected briefly on how rarely he’d heard that sound – and how much he liked it. “Sometimes I think she says that shit just to get a reaction. Hockey’s been around long enough for her to have been exposed, you know? I bet she does it to get him riled up.”

“You’re probably right,” Clint agreed, thinking of the impish glint in her green eyes. “You should have heard her shut down this chick at the church Women’s Group thing they went to, Nat let me watch—” 

“Okay, I let it go when you said something about church the first time, but I gotta ask,” CJ interrupted. “A two thousand year old pagan druid and a woman who can strangle people with her thighs went to a church Women’s Group?”

“Sounds like a really bad joke setup, doesn’t it? Diane – Phil’s mom – and the twins’ moms were going, so… you know… girl bonding time, or some shit. They had fun… mostly… Nat got to verbally eviscerate one of Phil’s exes, and Catriona got to snark about her education level to somebody, so it was a win for most of the time. Just… you know…” he added lamely, “just the sexual harassment and dislocating that dude’s shoulder. Two out of three’s not bad.”

The chuckle started low, but as it grew Clint found himself grinning foolishly along. “God, you’re such a dork, and I love it.” His chuckles dimmed, his voice turning serious. “You know, I’ve spent a lot of time being thankful that SHIELD found me, and that you put an arrow through Marconi’s eye – and I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’m insanely, wickedly glad that Agent Coulson picked me for the squad, and that it’s become… this.” He paused. “And I’m really fucking glad our teaglach is nothing like Sam’s family.”

“Thanks, CJ.” He knew what it cost the sharpshooter to say that – he’d had a difficult time accepting the triad. In his experience, authority figures having a relationship with a subordinate was a lot less consensual. “Are they that bad?”

“If this is how normal families work, I’m glad I’m not part of one. They dress for dinner, Clint – like, I had to put on a tie. For dinner. Family dinner, not even a passel of guests or something.” CJ sounded completely baffled, and Clint was reminded that Sam came from capital-M-Money. “Mr. Adams – and I’ve definitely not been invited to refer to him by anything else – called SHIELD ‘Sam’s little social justice project.’ Apparently, she’s just going through a phase before she settles down to a serious, more appropriate career.”

Clint let out a low whistle. “I don’t think that counts as normal. None of Phil’s family – well, that’s not true. Meg’s husband Derek is an ass, but even that isn’t… how’s Sam holding up?”

“I’m really glad you suggested her bringing somebody as a buffer,” CJ admitted quietly. “She’s not good. It eats at her, every time they make little backhanded comments. I don’t understand why, she shouldn’t care what they think—”

“I’m figuring out that most people care what their families think, even when it seems weird to outsiders,” Clint interrupted with a sigh. “Don’t be too hard on her for it.”

“It’s not her I want to get into the ring and reeducate,” CJ said sourly. “Give me twenty minutes in the ring with Mr. Adams. Fifteen on the range. Fuck, just let me show him tape of a bout between Sam and Nat, and maybe he’d realize she’s not passing out political pamphlets.”

“Wish I could let you, faireoir. Really do.”

“I know.” He was quiet a moment. “Just makes me realize, you know? You guys never asked any of us to be anybody but who we are.”

“Does that mean you’ll call him Phil now?”

“I’m working on it.” He sounded embarrassed. “My therapist thinks it’s weird, that I have two names for everybody – Agent Romanoff and Natasha, Agent Hill and Maria… but how the hell else do I differentiate?”

Clint snorted. “If you figure it out, let me know. They’re starting to blur together in my head, and about the only thing that keeps the lines straight for me is the knowledge of the sheer amount of pain that would follow if I slip up and call Hill ‘Ria’ in front of Directory Fury.”

“Oh, yeah. Ouch.” CJ’s tone was pinched, and Clint would bet that if he could see the sharpshooter, he’d be pale. “Or if you used the forbidden nickname in the field.”

Wincing, Clint agreed, “Yeah. Although he let me use it in front of his family, so… you know… maybe someday.”

“There’s that damned word again.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s just… so loaded, you know? Did you know Buffy’s got contingency plans for it? She and Lancelot have their heads together over it, a whole stack of plans and plots.” CJ sounded amused. “Every now and again, they’ll argue over whether it should be called Operation: Tomorrow or Operation: Epilogue. Angie usually votes for Operation: About Fucking Time.” 

Clint cackled, trying to muffle it with his hand. “Goddess, I need to tell Phil and Nat that. That’s hilarious.” He wiped at tears of amusement. “How about you? You got plans for it?”

CJ was silent long enough Clint was regretting asking. “I’m sticking with you three, wherever that winds up being, and no matter who sticks, too. If that means leaving SHIELD… hell, I don’t care. I don’t seem to need the hunt as much anymore, and I know Coulson – Phil – wouldn’t leave me out in the cold. Find some crappy corner deli job, eat Sunday dinner at the dojo, and fight with Misty over babysitting rights sounds pretty damn good to me.”

“If push comes to shove, I’m pretty sure the Inn could use a handyman,” Clint offered lightly – to cover up the fact that he was shocked and humbled by CJ’s admission.

“Yeah, I could do that,” he agreed thoughtfully. “Happily married sisters and parents, lots of kids… it sounds… safe.”

“It’s pretty damned awesome.” The door to the Blue Room opened, and a sleep-tousled Phil looked down at him. “Hey, CJ, if you’re cool – Phil’s up from his nap, and I want to make plans to take the kids skating.”

“I’m good, Clint. Glad you are too.” There was a thoughtful pause. “Give my best to Natasha and Phil.”

Clint grinned in triumph. “Will do.”

~ * ~


	31. Chapter 31

Phil offered Clint a hand up from the floor. Clint rose and kissed him thoroughly. “I hope I didn’t wake you. CJ called.”

“You didn’t, and I gathered that much.” Phil ran a hand through Clint’s hair. “Everything okay?”

“Yup. He got a feeling, called to check in.” Clint smiled, leaning forward to press another kiss to Phil’s lips. “Where’s Nat?”

The door opened again, and Natasha snaked a hand out, latched it around his wrist, and pulled Clint to her. “Your mind tastes happy,” she murmured to him. “I’ve missed it.” She molded her body against his, making Phil chuckle.

“I thought we were past the Solstice hunger?” he asked, stepping up to wrap arms around them.

“I don’t need the Solstice to want my husbands,” she chided gently, kissing him.

“Can we take a rain check, Sunshine?” Clint tugged at her waist. “I want to take the girls – maybe the rest of the kids, too – out to do something fun. CJ suggested ice skating, is that something doable? And would it be enjoyable?” He directed the questions at Phil.

“Skating is always doable and enjoyable,” Phil agreed. “If our lady is willing?” He cocked an eyebrow at Natasha.

She smiled, pressing chaste kisses to each pair of lips. “Of course. I can have you all to myself… later. Do you think all twelve would be willing?”

“I can ask.” Phil ran comforting hands down both their backs. “Let me find Mom. This kind of outing is best planned by the General herself.” Clint chuckled. “Don’t call her that to her face, though,” Phil cautioned, his eyes twinkling. “It’ll start an argument about field commanders versus REMFs.”

Clint laughed until his sides ached.

Phil trotted down the steps, unsurprised to find his mother in the kitchen with Catriona. From the increased pile of baked goods, they’d slept a couple of hours. “Hey,” he said, kissing both of their cheeks.

“Treorai.” Catriona reached for him with both hands – very floury hands – and held his cheeks, looking into his eyes. Whatever she saw there made her nod and kiss his forehead – he ducked down to make it easier.

“All good, lovey?” Diane asked, watching the two of them with a fond smile. She didn’t think she’d ever really understand how casually affectionate the druid could be – but it didn’t bother her any longer. 

“All good,” Phil confirmed. “Clint suggested we take the kids skating – at least the twins, maybe the rest. What do you think?”

Diane beamed at him. “I think that’s a fine idea. Let me make a few calls.” She kissed his cheek and disappeared out of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry we abandoned you,” Phil told Catriona when they were alone. “I know you were upset too.” 

She fixed him with a sharp glare as she crimped pie crust. “You need never apologize for putting your achroi ghra first, treorai. I was not alone. I spoke to Mother, checked in with your darling nieces, and have been baking with Diane.”

“Alright, I’m well chastised,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“You needed the time,” she murmured.

Diane returned, finding Phil standing with an arm around the druid while she dusted leftover pie dough with cinnamon and sugar. “Ice skating is a go,” she said, smiling. “You’ve got an hour to brace yourself. The pond over by the Morgan place is already prepped – I checked with them, and they’re fine with being invaded by the horde.” 

“Fantastic! I’ll run up and start chivvying my spouses into cold weather gear.” Phil rubbed his hands together eagerly. “This is going to be great, I haven’t been on skates in years.”

“I’ll dig yours out, then. What size shoes do Clint and Natasha wear? I think an old pair of Lily’s will fit you, Catriona.”

And so the entire Coulson family descended upon a small pond – twelve children, six parents, two aunts, two uncles, and two sets of grandparents. (Jack and Viola, having caught wind of the outing, invited themselves.)

Natasha was regarding the skates with suspicion. “Generally, when I’m involved with blades, they don’t go on my feet.”

Diane laughed. “I know, lovey, but you’ve got to at least give it a go. Even the littlest one is going to.”

Natasha’s eyes fell on the youngest of Diane’s grandchildren – Megan’s three-year-old son Michael. The boy wasn’t all that steady on his feet in tennis shoes, but his parents were strapping him in to a pair of skates – double bladed, apparently for stability, but still. “This is not convincing me.”

Phil skated over to her – he’d not only already put his on, but was flitting about the pond helping the kids get comfortable. “Come on, love, it’s fun.” He tugged at the lapels of her jacket, ducking down for a brief kiss before skating away to help Emily and Grace untangle from each other.

“Can’t really refuse, when it makes him giddy,” Clint said in an undertone to Catriona. “Bless CJ for suggesting it.” He gamely put his skates on the ice and pushed off, managing to look graceful.

Catriona didn’t need any encouragement. Skating was, she had informed them tartly, a common form of transit over frozen rivers in much of the world, and she was quite adept.

That left Natasha – still – sitting on a wooden bench in her socks, glaring at the skates Diane had unearthed for her. {This is stupid,} she grumbled to Clint.

{Not stupid when it makes Phil laugh like that,} Clint pointed out. Their husband was giggling – giggling! – with three of the boys (Natasha gave up trying to keep them all straight) and showing them how to skate backwards. {Come on, you can do pointe shoes, this shouldn’t be hard.} He skated economically – no flashy moves, which surprised her, but with smooth and even strokes. {Not my first time on skates, Sunshine. Catriona’s right, it’s a good way to get around in certain places, and quieter than a snowmobile.} His tone was dry. {Can’t believe you’re not out here doing pirouettes around us. You’d look damned good in one of those skimpy figure skating outfits, you know.}

Scowling, she let Diane help her fasten the skates and eased herself onto the ice. She pushed forward – exactly as she’d seen Phil and Clint do – and found herself on her ass on the ice.

“You okay, love?” Phil was there immediately, helping her up – and he managed to keep the amusement out of his voice, if not his eyes.

“Fucking peachy,” she grumbled, making him laugh.

He held her steady as she got her blades aligned properly – how he managed to balance himself and her she had no idea – and released her gradually, leaning back out of her way.

Her left skate shot out entirely without her consent, and she’d have hit the ice again if Phil hadn’t caught her. 

“You have no idea how good it is for my ego to be better than you at something,” he murmured in her ear as he righted her. “Ego and libido, mind you.”

It was the second comment that prevented her from using one of her blades as a weapon instead of transport. “This is ridiculous.”

Rose glided over, her cheeks pink above the teal scarf she wore. “I’ll help her, Uncle Phil. The boys want you.” She gestured vaguely back at the cluster of boys skating shaking backwards. He swooped down to kiss her cheek – she didn’t protest much – and waved his hand at Natasha as he darted back to the boys. “Shaky on your pins, huh?”

She mastered the urge to scowl – barely. “I can balance on a cable twenty-five stories above the ground. I can dance the solos from Swan Lake. I can take down men twice my size without breaking a sweat.” She didn’t add ‘but I can’t do this’ because that would be admitting defeat.

“Yeah, but you were on missions for that, right? Even the ballet?” Rose raised an eyebrow. “At least a first?”

Evil, perceptive child. “Yes.”

“So, what would be different, if this was for a mission?”

The scowl appeared, but Rose only grinned at her. “I wouldn’t be surrounded by chattering magpie children, for one.” Rose poked her shoulder at that. “I’d be in a climate-controlled training facility.”

“It’s not that cold out, Auntie Nat.”

“No, but it’s… weathery.” She glowered up at the sky – overcast – and the drifts of snow.

“Okay.” Rose pondered that. “I bet you don’t usually learn new stuff with this many variables, right?” Natasha didn’t answer her. “What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not—” she began, then sighed. “Damn it, Rose. Why do you have to be so… Coulson-y.”

Rose grinned at her. “It’s my name.”

“Fine. I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of my family, okay?” She tried to keep the hostility out of her voice, but was pretty sure she missed the mark.

“You don’t,” Rose insisted. “It’s actually really cool to get to help you with something.”

Natasha blinked and looked down at the girl, looking for any falsehood. Rose’s eyes were fixed on her, expression entirely open. “Really.”

Rose held out a gloved hand. “Really. No, don’t try to push – I’m just gonna pull you.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Honest. You get your feet straight like a sled, and I’ll pull.” She towed Natasha over to where Lily was helping some of the girl-cousins. “Auntie Nat could use some help.”

Lily tilted her head at her twin, eyes narrowing, and then smiled at Natasha. “Never been on skates before?”

“Nope.”

One of the smaller girls – one of Megan’s, Natasha thought, because she lacked the caramel skin of Darla’s brood – looked up at her in awe. “Never ever?”

“Auntie Nat, this is Madeline, and her big sister Catherine,” Lily introduced promptly. “You remember Anna, Grace, and Emily from last year.” Natasha nodded, though she wouldn’t have been able to put faces to names without Lily’s prompting. “Maddy, Auntie Nat didn’t… ummm… didn’t grow up with a normal family, so sometimes we have to teach her this stuff.”

“Oh.” Maddy tilted her head back to see Natasha from under the brim of her hat. “Like one of Daddy’s mad-bad families?” Natasha looked to Rose for a translation.

“Not exactly.” Rose patted Maddy’s shoulder, looking at Natasha. “Uncle Derek’s a lawyer, remember? He has some clients that have bad stuff going on, but… not like yours.”

Natasha hoped there was never a circumstance where she had to hear Rose pronounce a family ‘just like hers.’ 

“Remember, you guys helped us write the slumber party list, so she could have a real one?” Lily reminded the other girls. They nodded solemnly. Apparently more had gone into that lesson than Natasha had realized! “This is kinda like that. Girls stick together, right?” Five very serious little girls nodded again, with all the earnestness of soldiers accepting orders for the front lines.

“So what do I do?” Natasha asked. She hoped the innocuous question would hide the fact that she was near to tears, spilling over with ridiculously pink, gooey love for these open hearts.

“I’ll show you,” Rose promised, and reached for her hand again.

~ * ~


	32. Chapter 32

Clint collapsed on the bench next to Diane, eagerly excepting the cup of hot coffee she poured out of a thermos for him. “The kids wear you out?” she asked with a smile.

Given that he’d been skating backwards races with them for the better part of an hour, it was a good guess. “Nah, I just need a break.” He breathed on the coffee to cool it before taking a sip.

“And that would have nothing to do with the fact that you can get a better vantage point of your wife and husband from here, hmm?” she teased. 

There was a snort nearby, and if Clint hadn’t known that Professor Fergus O’Finnegan was on another continent, he’d have assumed it was the scornful Bard.

That thought apparently penetrated the Natasha’s concentration, because her head came up and her eyes focused on Derek. {Need backup, dearling?}

{I can handle a lone asshole, Sunshine.} He could tell she wanted to protest, but not crowd him. {Honestly, I’ll be fine.} He flashed a look over his shoulder at Derek. “You got something to say, Anderson?” It was a calculated move, using his surname – a subtle reminder that he was a federal agent, more accustomed to military structure than his brother-in-law. It was also delivered in the formal, flat tone he’d have used with a non-Scooby Agent.

“Still can’t figure it out,” Derek said. “What’s a chick like her doing with you two?”

Clint let a smirk spread. “Whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, right.” Derek snorted again. “She’s what, twenty years younger that Phil? You expect me to believe she’s in it for the sex?”

“She’s older than she looks,” Clint answered calmly. He debated telling him her real age, but decided it wasn’t necessary. “Not like it matters. We’re it, for each other. Soulmates, I guess you’d call it.” He twisted his wedding ring on his finger, unaware of the tender smile on his face as he watched Phil guide Natasha over the ice.

Derek’s disbelief was a palpable force. “Soulmates.”

Clint shrugged, not looking back at him. “You don’t need to believe us. We don’t need your approval.”

{Damn, dearling.} Natasha’s mental voice was impressed. {You knew exactly what to say to puncture his ego. I love it. And you.}

The corner of Clint’s lip twitched. {Thanks.}

Derek looked like he wanted to make another snide comment, but he was distracted by his wife breezing over, sitting down next to Clint and eagerly accepting a cup of coffee from her mother. “Has Nat really never skated before, or is she humoring the children?”

“Oh no, this is all new to her,” Clint assured her. “And she doesn’t like not being the expert at it,” he confided in a mock-whisper.

Diane laughed. “She’s doing fairly well, for a novice. She’s only hit the ground what, eighteen times?”

“I value my skin too much to correct you with the actual number,” Clint said drily. Derek snorted at that, too, but Clint ignored him. “Your kids are adorable, Megan. I meant to tell you that earlier. If I have my way, Joey’s nickname for Phil will go viral. I’d love to see our team call him ‘Agent Cool’ in the field.”

Megan laughed. It made her look younger – he hadn’t realized how somber she’d looked when they arrived. {Sunshine, you catch that? She didn’t look like that at the church thing, did she?}

{I did, and she didn’t.} Natasha answered grimly. {Think it’s got to do with Derek?}

{I don’t know what else it could be. Do you think he…} He trailed off, not wanting to put it into words but being unable to keep images from flashing in his mind.

{I think Phil would have noticed, if he’d ever raised a hand to her, but we’ll watch it.} Her distraction caused her to lose her balance and hit the ice again. {Damn it.}

Phil reached down to help her up. “Everything all right?” He touched the wrinkle that indicated – to him – that she’d been speaking with Clint.

“Yeah.” She kissed him gently. “Remind me to bring it up later, okay?” He flashed a concerned look, and she shook her head, her fingers flickering in the field signals for ‘civilians present.’

“You guys kiss so much,” Rose sighed with exaggerated disgust. Her cousins giggled. “Come on, Auntie Nat – it’s your turn to race.” In deference to her very shaky skating skill, Natasha had been pitted against the younger cousins – three-year-old Michael, five-year-old Owen, and six-year-old Anna. The only one she had a shot at beating was Michael… and that was only if she managed to stay on her feet for the next two runs.

Phil let her go, grinning as she was engulfed in children again. He made his way over to where the adults were sitting, coffee cups in hand. “You got enough in that thermos for me, Mom?”

“As if I would subject the children to an uncaffeinated SHIELD agent,” she scoffed, and handed him a steaming cup. 

He settled down next to Clint, slinging an arm around his husband’s waist. “Enjoying yourself, lovebird?”

Derek snorted again.

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You need a decongestant, Derek?” he asked, with careful solicitude. “You sound very nasal today.”

“No.” The lawyer handed his empty cup to Diane – without thanks, Phil noted – and skated back across the ice to the children. He stayed out of Natasha’s range, busying himself with the makeshift net and stick-poles that some of the older children were attempting to play hockey with.

“I’m sorry,” Megan murmured, leaning around Clint to make eye contact with her brother.

“You don’t have to apologize for him, Meg.” Phil stretched the hand he had around Clint’s waist until he could touch her, tugging on her coat until she slid a gloved hand into his.

Clint turned his head slightly to make eye contact with Phil, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t want to outright ask – especially with half of the couple in question sitting next to him – but her behavior was raising flags – big, red silk ones with a matador on the other side.

{Imp.}

{You disagree?}

{No,} she said, carefully navigating a turn on the ice. {I just think your imagery is funny.}

He didn’t answer, not wanting to distract her further. Thom wandered his way over, having separated himself from the group now flocking to Derek. Clint wondered if he was avoiding the lawyer also. “This was a good idea,” Thom complimented, taking the bench seat that Derek had vacated.

“Thanks. Wish I could take the credit, though – it was one of our Scoobies.” Clint grinned. “CJ’s the youngest, I’m not surprised he’d come up with a good kid idea.”

“How young?” Thom asked.

Phil prevented Clint’s immediate answer with a quelling hand. “Young. Younger than we should take agents, and younger than you’d approve of.” Thom’s eyebrows shot up – as did Diane’s and Megan’s. “He’s nineteen – on paper.”

“Fuck,” Thom breathed. “You have a teenage sniper?”

“Yeah, I do,” Phil agreed. “I brought him in as soon as I could. Sooner than I should have, but…”

“But he needed to be safe,” Clint murmured, just now understanding how far Phil had reached for the sharpshooter. When they’d taken down the League of Knights eight years ago – the pretentiously named mercenary organization they’d rescued CJ from – he’d been a preadolescent. It was possible he’d been eleven at the time, but Clint would have put him closer to eight. “Shit, Phil. Do you meant to tell me he’s—”

Phil cut him off with one sharp look. “He’s nineteen.”

Clint nodded slowly. “Okay. Right.” He met Phil’s eyes, and saw a fierce protectiveness. {Did you know about this, Sunshine?}

{I had suspicions,} she admitted. {He’s so skinny, and gangly – I didn’t think it was all malnourishment, not after eight years.}

“You have a very large heart, lovey,” Diane murmured.

Megan was frowning at Phil. “Couldn’t you get in trouble over that?”

“Yes.”

“How much trouble are we talking about?”

He debated his answer, not sure if he really wanted to get into a dispute about the wisdom of his actions. “I don’t think they’d actually convict me on federal charges.”

Thom let out a low whistle. “He better be worth it.”

Phil twisted on the bench to pin his brother-in-law with an Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge glare. “He’s the second-best sharpshooter I’ve ever worked with, and he’s being trained by the best. He’s a damned good agent, and I trust him to watch my people’s back in a heartbeat. Yes, he’s worth it.” In a quieter voice, he added, “They all are.”

Clint wondered how many of the Scoobies were on the squad because of a stupid, dangerous, or illegal act by his husband.

~ * ~

The best Natasha could say about the skating races was that they were over, and she didn’t take last place.

Second-to-last, but not last. She’d managed to eke out above the three-year-old.

She took off her skates with great relief, added them to the crates of gear that Diane loaded into the minivan. There was a whole herd of minivans, she realized – which only stood to reason, given how many people were at the pond.

{Is it a herd of minivans? It looks more like a flock,} Clint interjected, and looped his arm through hers.

{Is that your way of distracting yourself from serious thoughts?}

He wrinkled his nose at her. {Yes. I’d rather not think about all the laws Phil broke to put the Scoobies together, thank you. I knew he was keeping their secrets; I didn’t know he had secrets about recruiting them, too.}

Natasha patted his hand soothingly. {We don’t know that for sure, dearling. It could just be CJ, and I’d have done the same thing.} Clint grimaced. {I know, but let’s not press him about it. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.} 

“Ready to head home?” Phil asked, coming around the van and nearly colliding with his spouses. His eyebrows furrowed at their expressions. “Everything alright?”

“When we get back to the Inn,” Natasha said, “we need to have a conversation about your sister – and one about CJ.”

Phil nodded slowly, gesturing to the second minivan destined for the Inn. (Sarah, Iris, Catriona and the twins were in one; Diane, Alex, and the triad were in the third.) “Agreed.”

The triad settled into the back seat – the three of them could sit together there, while the middle seat would only hold two – and Diane started the drive back to the Inn.

“Can I ask a question?” Diana asked, not long after they’d pulled onto the road.

That she’d waited until he was trapped in the van told Phil that he wasn’t going to like it. “Of course.”

“Is it Megan or Thom you’re laying bait for?”

Alex breathed in sharply. “Diane!”

Phil sighed, pain evident even in that small sound. “I’m not sure. Both, I guess.” Clint reached for his hand while Natasha placed a gentle kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” he murmured to his spouses. “I didn’t expect an opportunity today.” He raised his voice again. “The Director knew more about our visit last year than he should have, and we don’t know why. I thought a few choice bits dropped would give me an idea where he’s getting his information.”

She met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Neither of them would betray you, Philip.”

“Not intentionally,” Phil agreed. He sounded… tired, Natasha decided. “There are other ways for information to be gleaned.”

“Is it true? What you said about CJ?” Clint asked.

“Yes.” Phil closed his eyes.

“Son of a bitch.” Clint thumped his head against the headrest. “I really wanted that one to be a lie, Moonbeam.”

Phil freed a hand – he’d had a spouse clutching each – and rubbed his forehead. “As did I… but I don’t lie to you, lovebird.”

Diane and Alex let the subject drop – for now – and the rest of the drive was silent. When they returned to the Inn, the triad made excuses and cloistered themselves in the Blue Room – after Natasha had ensured that Catriona was content to be occupied by the twins.

“So.” Clint flopped on to his back on the bed. “Are you going to tell us how young he is?”

“Sixteen,” Phil said shortly. 

Realization dawned. “Damn it, Phil. You let him drink beer with the Scoobies. Even his fictional age isn’t old enough for that.”

He shrugged. “If I’m going to ask him to risk his life for his country, the least I can do is offer him a beer.” Clint stared at his husband.

Phil stood by the window, his forehead pressed against the glass. “He was eight when we took down the League – it took me seven years to get him out of pre-recruitment.” At Clint’s questioning noise, Phil closed his eyes. “He was too skilled, when we broke the League. There was no way SHIELD was going to put him into traditional foster care, not with marksmanship like that at eight years old. They’ve got contingency plans, you know.” Natasha nodded, sitting with more decorum next to Clint on the bed. “Fury wouldn’t let me take him – only couples get pre-recruitment placements. I knew he wasn’t going to get a family, not a real one… it isn’t designed to be a family, it’s more like an extended apprenticeship.”

Clint propped himself up on his elbows. “Room and board, lessons, all the training he’d take – but no affection?”

“Pretty much.”

Natasha blew out a breath. “It’s no wonder he’s such a good agent.” She paused. “How does Fury not know about this? About CJ’s age?”

Phil shot her a lopsided smile. “Angie isn’t the only hacker I know. There are no records identifying CJ as the victim we pulled from beneath Marconi’s body – every report leaves that child unidentified. CJ is just named as a child of the cult. Any references to his age have been removed from all the records of his pre-recruitment years. Someone would have to interrogate his former guardians to find out. One’s dead, and the other owes me enough favors that I doubt she’d speak out.” He sighed and returned his forehead to the cool glass. “Fury might put two and two together if he tried, but he’s got no reason to link my pet sharpshooter with a mission eight years ago.”

Clint rose, crossed to Phil and bodily turned his husband to make eye contact. “Two things. One – why didn’t you tell us you had a headache?”

“It’ll pass.”

Natasha growled. “I’ll go down and make a cup of tea, and you will drink it.” She fixed a stern gaze on Phil, and he raised a hand to ward it off. “Keep talking, dearling – I’ll listen telepathically.” She disappeared out the door.

“Second thing – does CJ know this? The age charade, and how many strings you’ve pulled?” Clint eased Phil closer, knowing the headache was likely making his neck and shoulders ache.

“He knows that his birthdate, according to every piece of documentation, is three years earlier than in reality – he doesn’t know why, or who changed it.” Phil let himself sag into Clint’s embrace, head pounding. “I didn’t want to put pressure on him. If he knows it was me…” Phil shook his head. “I’m afraid it would cause more damage than good. It probably isn’t healthy, the amount of interest I’ve taken in his life – but I had to get him out, pretty bird.”

Natasha returned with a steaming mug of tea, pressing it into his hands. “Of course you did. Pre-recruitment is better than foster care, but not by a hell of a lot. Who was he placed with?”

Phil sipped the tea, grateful again that Catriona’s brew seemed to work near-instantly. “Doug Martin and Louise Shaeffer. Doug’s gone, now. Good agents, both but… not suited to raising children.”

Clint blanched. “Fury put a traumatized eight-year-old with those two?” The agents in question were supremely trained, and very effective instructors. Martin had taught general education subjects at the SHIELD academy; Shaeffer taught hostage negotiation. Shaeffer was in her late forties and Martin had been close in age – when he died they’d been a couple for almost twenty years. Stability aside, they wouldn’t have been Clint’s choice of guardians for so much as a stray guinea pig. “Goddess, it’s a wonder he’s as functional as he is.”

Natasha cupped her hand around Phil’s cheek. “Why tell us now, loverling?”

He stalled for time by taking another sip of tea, his mind racing through scenarios and variations. Even if he’d wanted to prevaricate, he knew they’d see through him. “Partly it was accidental – I’ve been thinking about tidbits to drop, and that was too good an opportunity to pass up. Part of it is knowing that he’s accepting the clan, reaching out – I want you both to know what he’s fighting against, to do that.” Phil looked down into his mug. “Aside from what he suffered at Marconi’s hands, he’s never had this – never been part of a family unit. The idea that he called you, Clint, because you needed him… it’s amazing. I want to nurture that, nurture him – I hope you both want that too. Knowing his true age, some of his history makes that more possible.”

“We need to tell him that we know,” Natasha said quietly. “Really, you do – you need to talk to him, loverling. I don’t think he’s going to react badly, but I think he would if he found out from someone else.”

“You’re right.” Phil sighed. “I know you’re right, but… Goddess, I don’t want to hurt him.”

Clint wrapped both arms around Phil and tugged his head down, plucking the empty mug from his hands and passing it to Natasha to stash on a table. “Tell him that, too.”

~ * ~


	33. Chapter 33

“We still need to talk about Megan,” Natasha reminded them. She had waited until the worst of Phil’s tension had eased, but his middle sister’s name drew his shoulders tight again.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

Clint reached a hand out for Natasha, and she slid into their embrace – all three of them touching, not sexual but intimate. “I know we don’t like Derek – he’s an asshole – and I didn’t think I liked Megan, but… she was different, today. And she was different when she was at the church with Nat and Catriona, too. Why is she different without her husband?” He touched the creases deepening on Phil’s forehead. “Is he hurting her, and do we need to stop him?”

“I know this is going to be difficult to grasp, but it isn’t our responsibility to intervene in their marriage,” Phil protested. “I don’t think he hurts her. Meg wouldn’t put up with it. I’ve never seen him raise a hand against her or any of the children, and the kids aren’t scared of him.”

Natasha stroked a hand through his hair. “Something’s not right, loverling, and you know it.”

Phil grimaced, closing his eyes to avoid their joint scrutiny. “I don’t know how much of it is genuine concern, and how much is disliking Derek.”

“Fair point,” Clint admitted. “But I’m not okay with her sad eyes, Moonbeam. Last year, she called Catriona a little hippy and stared down her nose at us. This year, she painted Nat’s toenails and apologized for Derek being an ass. You gotta admit, it’s different.”

“Perhaps she’s finally growing up?”

“What does your gut say?” Natasha shot back.

“My gut says their marriage is on the rocks, but not abusive,” Phil sighed. “And I’ve got no cause to poke into it further.”

{Why,} Clint asked Natasha telepathically, {will he merrily invade everyone else’s privacy, but not Megan’s?}

Natasha pressed her cheek into Phil’s shoulder. {I don’t know. I don’t think we’d better push – but I’m going to do some investigating.}

“Stop plotting,” Phil grumbled. 

“It’s all your fault,” Clint accused good-naturedly. “You’re the one that wanted us to love your family. Turns out that extends to annoying middle sisters, too.” 

Phil kissed them both, one after the other. “If you’re determined to meddle, you might talk to Iris. If my mother is the heart of this family, Iris is the eyes – she sees everything.”

~ * ~

Far from feeling abandoned, Catriona was grateful for the chance to meditate when they returned from the pond to the Inn. She was unaccustomed to spending so much time in the company of others, and a chance for quiet reflection was welcome.

She’d thought she wanted to be entirely alone, but when a small hand wormed its way into her own, she was not dismayed. She knew it to be Lily before she opened her eyes, and a smile grew. “Come to join my communion with the Goddess, alanna m’chroi?”

“Actually… I was kinda hoping I could talk to you about my mojo,” Lily said softly. “The empath thing, with the colors.”

Catriona opened her eyes, focusing on the delicate blonde girl beside her. “You may always speak to me of such things, Lilabeth. In truth, there is precious little I would deny you.”

Lily bit her lip, obviously torn, before tugging on Catriona’s hand. “Can I…?” she gestured at the druid’s lap.

“Always.” Catriona lifted her arms so that Lily could nestle in, settling against the druid with a contented noise. “What troubles you? Is your Gift malfunctioning?”

“No.” Lily plucked at her lip, caught herself, and folded her hands in her lap. “I think it’s getting stronger, though. And it’s harder to ignore.”

“Why ever would you ignore it?”

The child snorted. “Because I’m not supposed to know how people feel all the time. Sure, it’s great when I need it – when somebody’s upset and I can help – but knowing that my math teacher is sad or that the grocery check-out guy is thinking about his boyfriend… that’s just…” she waved a hand in the air. “Extra stuff.”

“Have you spoken to Gaia about it?”

“No,” Lily huffed out. “I’m not a druid and I’m not a Warrior – how would I do that?”

\\\I would suggest asking, tuar ceatha faidh,// the Goddess interjected, dry humor in her tone. \\\It would please me, to speak with you of your Gift.//

Catriona was thankful that Lily’s head was against her shoulder so that the widening of her eyes could pass unnoticed and unremarked. To have spoken to the child once was remarkable; to do so again, and to name her in Gaelic, confirmed in Catriona’s mind that Lily was destined to serve the Goddess in some capacity. Her arms tightened around Lily automatically.

“Stop freaking out,” Lily whispered. “I can see it, you know. See the color of your worry. That’s what I mean. You’re trying to hide it from me because you don’t want me to know, but I can see it anyway.”

The Goddess’s voice was calm. \\\Catriona Alanna cannot cease to be concerned for you, faidh. She loves you as kin.//

“Yeah.” Lily slumped against her. “I know. I love you too.”

“Is there ought that can be done, Mother?” Catriona asked. She shoved her concerns to the side – about Lily’s increasing sensitivity, about Gaia’s direct address of the girl, about the Gaelic name that meant ‘rainbow seer’, about Gaia calling her kin to Catriona – and focused instead on her duty to the Goddess as Her Healer. “Can Lilabeth be taught to shield or suppress her Gift as needed?”

\\\There are exercises which may help,// the Goddess agreed. \\\You are familiar with them, my Druid – they are such that are set to many new students.// Acolyte exercises. She was to teach Lily acolyte exercises – those initial lessons on the path towards Druidry. \\\Be at ease, Catriona.// She knew the Goddess spoke to her alone now. \\\It may not come to pass. Tuar ceatha faidh may decline the invitation, when it is given – and it is not extended, yet. These steps are necessary for her, regardless of what path she takes.//

“Yes, Mother.” Catriona answered aloud for Lily’s benefit – in answer to both command and private reassurance. “Well then, Lily-lass. You are to learn how to calm your mind.”

Lily lifted her head from where she’d been cuddling the druid to make eye contact. “It means something more, doesn’t it?”

“Aye.” Catriona didn’t bother trying to lie to the girl – she’d know. “It could mean many things. For now, it means that I shall teach you to shield your thoughts – how to draw a line between what live in here,” she tapped Lily’s forehead, “and what is coming from outside.”

“Do we have to tell everybody about these lessons?” Lily pressed.

Catriona tilted her head at the girl. “We need not make an announcement, but I do not believe we should lie if pressed.”

“I guess.” Lily sighed, and there was more than reluctance in her tone. “I just… everybody will freak out, and then they’ll treat me different.” Catriona began to deny it, and Lily cut her off. “Aunt Catriona, even you’re treating me different.”

“I’m sorry, lass. It isn’t intentional.” She tucked the blond head into her shoulder, stroking the soft hair. “Would you like to know what your Gaelic name means?” Lily nodded without lifting her head. “Rainbow seer. Apt, isn’t it? Tis the name which disquiets me, I fear – lessons are all well and good, and where they lead is somewhere I’d be pleased to watch you go, but…” Catriona trailed off. “For Her to name you surprised me, faidh. Seer. She did not name our clan – She approved of the names, but I selected them. She did not choose your Uncle Phil’s, either… but She did mine, and that of your Aunt Natasha and Uncle Clint.”

Lily absorbed that. “You think I’m going to be a Warrior when I grow up.”

“No.” Her voice was laced with true sincerity. “I believe you have the potential to be a Druid – should you so wish it. Mother made it sound as though She will give you a choice, at some point in the future.”

“Huh.” Catriona felt Lily twine her fingers in her curls, idly twisting them. “That’s the part that scares you, isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

“Okay.” She straightened up, making eye contact with the druid again. “I don’t know if that’s what I want, but I do want to learn to – whatcha call it – calm my mind. The rest of it, we’ll see.” She grinned, a little wobbly but a smile nonetheless. “I’m only twelve. I don’t have to think about being a grown up yet.”

~ * ~


	34. Chapter 34

After a Phil-cooked dinner of chicken marinara and a dessert of Catriona’s apple pie, the family retired to the living room again for the second night of movie viewings. Lily and Rose dragged camping mattresses onto the floor in front of the couch and covered them with mounds of blankets and pillows gleaned from reading nooks through the Inn.

Natasha was the first to crawl onto it, sinking onto her back with a long sigh. “I never understood cuddle piles until I tried one,” she admitted to her husbands as they made themselves comfortable.

“Didn’t have the right partners,” Clint teased gently, poking the twins with his toes. “When it’s all adults, it’s different. Through a couple kids in, and it’s magical. I remember the first time Cooper crawled onto me, when I fell asleep watching a ball game. Magical,” he repeated, shaking his head fondly.

“I wanna meet Cooper and Lila,” Rose announced. “And Auntie Laura.” She didn’t mention Clint’s brother – really didn’t want to meet him – but the affection when her uncles and aunts spoke of the family in Iowa made Rose feel warm.

“They’d like you,” Clint agreed, ruffling her hair. “Maybe I can talk Laura into a vacation this summer. It would be good for her.”

Phil snaked one arm around Clint and used the other to tug Sarah closer to him. “I’m biased, but I think time at the Inn is good for everybody.”

Catriona curled up near Natasha’s feet, Lily close against her. “I must agree. I wish that we could have brought the rest of the clan… it feels like a good place for kin.”

“I’d love to see the look on Maria’s face if she walked in here to see this,” Clint murmured to Phil. Catriona’s eyebrows drew together.

“Dhearthair, you do not think she would object, surely?”

Natasha squeezed her bare toes against Catriona in a clumsy hug-substitute. “Not object. Panic, maybe – withdraw.”

Lily frowned. “Is she shy?”

Clint and Natasha traded looks before Clint answered. “She’s not used to having friends, yet, and she’s really not used to having family. She’s kinda skittish.”

“If she ever hears you talk about her like a stray cat…” Phil threatened.

“No, I didn’t mean… that’s not it. Not like a stray,” Clint fumbled. “More like… half-domesticated. If she were an animal, she’d be partly tamed, not something kept and gone feral.” He growled in frustration. “Please tell me that made sense outside my head.”

Rose patted his foot where it rested against her. “It did to me. Dog raised in the wild, wanting to come into the house but not knowing all the rules yet. Right?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s kinda sad, but kinda cool,” Rose decided. She folded her knees under her chin, looking at Clint. “The raised by wolves part is kinda sad, ‘cause I’m betting that means her bio family sucked as bad as ours did but…” she gestured at the triad and Catriona, “wanting to be part of your clan is neat. Means her sad didn’t break her either.”

Clint blinked, then reached over Phil to grab Sarah’s hand. “I love your daughters,” he said fervently.

Sarah laughed. “I’m glad. I’m pretty fond of them myself.” She smiled at Rose. “She’s always been good at seeing how people are put together, how they connect in with others.”

“She gets that from Momma,” Lily piped up.

“I’m delighted you think so.” Iris leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I think it more likely you two get it from Grandma Viola.”

Diane, giving up on conversation dying down, hit play. They were starting with Catriona’s choice of movie – a performance DVD of a troupe of Irish dancers, complete with fiddlers. It was a good choice for the early evening – no plot to get confused, just lively music and dancing. She settled back against her husband – in deference to their age, they were sitting on the couch and not on the mattress – to watch her children, in-laws, and grandchildren.

That meant she was looking directly at Catriona when the fiddler started, and could see the intense, desperate longing that flashed over her face. It was gone nearly as quickly as it had come, and nothing in her posture reflected her pain, but Diane knew she hadn’t imagined it – something about the music or the dancing hurt Catriona deeply.

She filed that away, in the same place she noted Clint’s flinches or Phil’s expression when Ken came up in conversation – a mother’s mental inventory of their wounds, and a private commitment to do what she could to ease them. She didn’t know if she had any hope of healing the druid’s wound – it was probably older than Methuselah – but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

~ * ~

Phil’s choice of movie made his spouses groan overdramatically. He’d selected Jurassic Park – though he kept his narration of familiar lines to lip-synching and not actual recitation. Still, it was clear he knew every line.

Natasha cuddled in to him, amused. With her head on his chest, she could hear him subvocalize the script along with the actors – complete with inflections. She knew it as well as he did, at this point… it was a favorite to play in the background while he read reports. 

Most of SHIELD would likely be horrified with how often he glared down at a report and said “So preoccupied with whether or not you could that you didn’t stop to think about whether or not you should,” which summed up his objections to a hell of a lot of breaches of protocol.

She was drowsing comfortably – lulled by the music of John Williams and the movement of Phil’s chest – when a phone rang.

“Damn it, if that’s a Scooby I’m going to kick some ass,” she grumbled.

“It isn’t,” Clint said, looking down at his phone. He answered it reluctantly as soon as Diane paused the film. “Laura? Everything okay?”

Phil’s brows drew together and he gathered Clint closer. The archer’s attention was fully on the call; he gave no indication he’d noticed Phil’s touch at all.

“Do you have a minute?” Laura asked softly. Her voice was low, like she didn’t want to make much noise.

“Yeah, of course.” Clint opened his mind to Natasha so that she could hear Laura clearly. “What’s up?”

“Your brother said something I didn’t understand, and I was hoping…” she trailed off. “Maybe you could fill me in?”

Clint blinked. “If I can. What was it?”

Laura hesitated. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t have – ”

“No takebacks,” Clint said immediately. “And ‘stupid’ got banned with ‘fine’ and ‘okay’ so find another word.”

As he’d hoped, it startled a laugh out of her, she stifled it quickly – the kids must be asleep nearby. “Well. We were arguing about something, and he told me not to be such a Lisa Fortuna, or I’d get what she got. I Googled her, and didn’t see anything so…”

“You wouldn’t.” Clint gripped the phone hard enough that Phil considered taking it from him. “She was in the circus crowd, an acrobat. Barney dated her briefly – they were like fire and gasoline. She used to scream at him so high that it would scare the elephant.”

Laura hummed. “So he’s telling me I’m a screaming lunatic?”

“But a hot one,” Clint added immediately – but inside he was freaking out. Lisa Fortuna’d gone missing from the carnival six months into her on-again-off-again fling with Barney, after she’d been accused of stealing the night’s takings. The carnival owner had backhanded her in front of the crew, but had a solid alibi when the cops came to investigate Lisa’s disappearance. It still left a bad taste in his mouth. “Was he drinking? Barney, when he said that?” Clint couldn’t imagine Barney bringing it up sober – especially not if he was intending it to mean something to Laura. They didn’t talk about the carnival days much, and sure as hell not with Laura – Barney did everything in his power to keep all of the dirt and filth of his life, past and present, away from his wife.

“Yes.” Laura’s answer was clipped, but given it was only confirmation of his thoughts, Clint didn’t put much stock into it.

“Whiskey or beer? Nevermind. Doesn’t matter.” His father’d only been violent with whiskey – beer was for social drinking, the kind he had to do with coworkers. “Sorry, Laura. Don’t know why he’d suddenly throw an ex-girlfriend’s name out as an insult.”

“Maybe because she’s an ex,” Laura muttered. “Thanks, Clint. Sorry to bug you, I just…”

He wished he could hug her. “You’re not a bug. Ever. Kiss the kids for me, okay?” After a few more pleasantries he hung up the phone, then sat staring at it as the Coulson family watched him. 

“Uncle Clint?” Lily finally asked. “Are you okay?”

Eight dozen answers flooded through his head and none of them were right. He settled on “I will be.” He reached for his spouses. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it, and I even more super don’t want to think about it, so can we just turn the movie back on?”

“Of course.” Diane hit play, and Clint focused with laser precision on the velociraptor in the kitchen, because if he didn’t he’d get up and pour himself a whiskey… and that way lay madness.

~ * ~


	35. Chapter 35

Natasha thought the purest definition of a bustling household was the Rainbow Inn on Christmas Eve.

The Coulson matriarch was in fine fettle, in full General mode – and Natasha had already survived one lecture on the difference between the person in charge and the person who knew what was going on – commanding her family with cheer and the absolute certainty that she would be obeyed.

Minus the cheer, it reminded her of Maria. Hill could get the same kind of effectiveness rolling, though her tactics relied more heavily on intimidation than bribery. (Diane was handing out kisses, cookies, hugs, and cocoa as she directed her troops.)

Still, watching the festivities unroll with the same precision as one of Agent Hill’s strategic infiltrations or Agent Coulson’s elaborate field operations amused her.

“Natasha! Would you be a dear and make sure that there are plenty of child-safe cups clean and on the counter?” Diane asked, gesturing to the kitchen. The remaining ten grandchildren were expected within the hour, because Christmas Eve was apparently the day for group congregations this year – she’d been promised that tomorrow was the more private celebrations that involved no driving.

“You got it.” Natasha also knew not to argue with a General – or the woman in charge. She obediently fetched, wiped, and arranged the shatter-proof mugs, and put a rubber lid next to each one. She didn’t think the kids would use the lids – and Diane never seemed to worry about spills – but she was determined to do her duty just as thoroughly as possible.

Clint had been drafted as part of the outdoors crew – an overnight weather system had dumped almost four inches of snow on the Inn, and the long driveway and parking area required shoveling. He and Phil had been sent out with shovels to clear sufficient space for the family vehicles, and a wide enough path down the driveway that no one would have to worry about being bogged down in a drift. Privately Natasha thought Clint should have done it alone – she didn’t like the idea of Phil out there straining his back.

{If you dare to tell him that, be my guest,} Clint said drily in her mind. {I already got the death glare for suggesting he let me do the first pass, and he could clean up the edges.}

{Stubborn men.} It was a familiar complaint, and Clint took it as she’d meant it – lovingly exasperated.

{Your men,} he agreed, and his mind drifted away as he focused on somehow doing the bulk of the work without their husband catching on.

By lunch time, all was ready – and the house was filled to overflowing with family.

Last year had been overwhelming. There were five more children, their parents, and Iris’s parents added to the mix this year – but somehow, Natasha felt less smothered than she had before.

They handed out the children’s gifts. Last year’s Nerf arsenal had been enthusiastically accepted, but the triad had done research on individual gifts this year. There was a new doll, painting kit, remote control helicopter, baseball mitt – each one picked with all the deliberation of a tactical strike… and each as effective. By the time the children had finished opening gifts, Clint was positively glowing from the repeated, unabashed embraces of delighted small people.

Damn, he loved kids.

He felt Natasha’s eyes on him at one point, and looked up from the pile to see her smiling at him with promise and prayer in her eyes and knew she was picturing their own child, years down the road. If he thought about that too hard, his eyes would start to water. Not tear up, of course. Not on Christmas Eve! There were new toys to play with!

Phil nearly laughed himself silly when he heard five-year-old Owen inform Clint, as he used his new doctor toy set, “You are bad at being sick.”

Natasha helped eight-year-old Maddy set up her new Clue board game, then proceeded to let Maddy, Tommy, and Grace thoroughly tromp her by ignoring the rules altogether.

Catriona found herself debating the finer points of doll clothes-making with Catherine and Anna – Catherine as the recipient of a new miniaturized sewing machine, and Anna as the proud owner of a new doll. Lily wandered over to add her thoughts; the lap loom she’d been given would make a fine woven panel to design a dress around.

Eventually the children settled. Diane turned a movie on low before turning her attention to her children and in-laws.

“I realize that gifts are traditionally for the children,” Catriona began shyly, “but I did bring a few things for each of you.” She passed a basket of fresh pineapple and coconuts to Darla. “I know you miss the tropical fruits,” she explained to Thom, who was looking at her in shock. “You served at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, yes?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, hefting the pineapple. It was perfectly ripe – perfectly perfect, in fact. “How did you…?”

Catriona smiled, Mona Lisa with red curls. “I have my ways.” She passed a second basket to Viola, who lifted the cloth napkin and stared down at the fresh cherries. “They are a favorite, yes?”

“Nothing like cherry pie,” Jack agreed, seeing that his wife couldn’t answer. “Thank you.”

A third basket was handed to Megan, revealing mangoes and papaya. Megan touched the firm fruit with a questioning finger, not looking at her husband. “More secret research, Catriona?”

The druid’s smile was warm and broad. “For the papaya, yes.” She leaned forward and mock-whispered. “The mango was easy – your lotion smells of it.”

“Oh! And I’ve got a thing to give,” Sarah announced, dashing out of the living room. Iris rolled her eyes. Sarah returned, brandishing a wrapped package. “Here, Phil. I wanted to give this where everyone could see your face.”

“Because that’s not ominous at all,” he muttered, slitting the tape neatly. Inside, he found a plain black picture frame holding a five by seven photograph. It was a still taken from the video Sarah’d gotten on her phone at the church Women’s Group. In it, Natasha had a finger pressed against Janet Larson’s lips. Natasha’s face wasn’t visible – her red hair was, but in the blurry foreground – but the focus of the photo was the mingled shock, terror, and disgust on Janet’s face. “Sarah, you’re an evil child.” He looked up from the picture frame, smile blooming. “I probably shouldn’t enjoy this so much but – thanks.”

“Damn,” Clint muttered, looking at the photo. “I wish we could put this in your office.”

“I cropped out any identifying features,” Sarah said, leaning over. “Somebody’d have to know Natasha really well to know that was her finger, and even if they did – they’d never know the circumstances. It’d be safe for outsiders to see.”

Natasha plucked the picture frame from Phil’s fingers and looked closely at it. “She’s right, loverling. Besides…” her grin turned malicious, “just imagine Fury’s face when he sees it. He’ll be so turned around trying to figure out who Janet is, he’ll barely look at me.”

“Evil,” Phil repeated, kissing Sarah on the forehead. “Thanks, sis.”

~ * ~

Clint had never really understood why gatherings of adults so often wound up segregated by gender, but he found himself standing in a group of entirely men, watching the children play. He wasn’t comfortable – he kept having to check in telepathically with Natasha and less subtly reaching for Phil’s hand in reassurance – but he stayed. Phil squeezed his fingers, comforting without drawing attention to him. 

He tuned out of the conversation – it wasn’t about hockey this time, some gossip about neighbors that apparently didn’t count as gossip if they were discussed it earnestly and without giggling – and observed instead. 

Jack and Thom both had steaming mugs of coffee – good Marine coffee, Thom had informed him with a wink. Thom held himself like a Marine still, in a posture that reminded Clint of Chuck. Jack’s was a more stooped version of it. Clint had never asked if Jack had served – really, he hadn’t known the man that long though he felt like an old friend. That posture suggested time in one branch or another. Maybe Marines… maybe Army. Not command, Clint didn’t think. He didn’t snap out orders like brass – more like a sergeant. 

A laugh drew his attention to Alex. Phil’s father confused Clint. He’d been a SHIELD agent, so there had to be depths to him that didn’t show… although he’d never said he was a field agent. Still, there was more going on in that noggin than he let on. For all his thoughtless comments, he’d been a damned good father to four children, and seemed to be doing a damned good job with their offspring as well. And their spouses, Clint had to admit. He stepped right into a paternal role with each of his children’s spouses – but didn’t try to horn in on Iris’s relationship with her own father. Just… stood by. Invisible, unwavering support. Clint had never had that from a father figure.

He shied away from that thought, not wanting to ruin the afternoon.

And speaking of ruining… Clint let his gaze settle on Derek, taking pains to make his observation look casual. He didn’t like Derek. He’d been primed not to like him, though, given how Phil felt about him – wasn’t in the marriage manual that you had to hate the in-laws your spouse hated? In a lot of ways, Derek reminded him of Barney and that didn’t improve his opinion of Megan’s husband. There was that same smug superiority, that feeling like he was always ridiculing them inside his head. Come to think of it, even the dismissiveness he showed his wife was familiar.

An empty coffee mug gave him the excuse he needed to escape from the room. He reassured Natasha telepathically that he was fine, just needed some air – flashed a hand sign to Phil with the same message – before retreating to the kitchen with a deep sigh.

“Overwhelming, aren’t they?” Thom asked from behind him. Clint jumped like a scalded cat and glared at the black man.

“Don’t sneak up on SHIELD agents.”

“Clint, I even told your husband I was going to follow you,” Thom said with a laugh. “If you’d been listening…”

Damn. Maybe he was less okay than he thought. “More coffee?” He picked up the carafe and poured his own mug full before brandishing it in Thom’s direction.

Thom held out his half-full mug. “Sure, but that wasn’t why I shadowed you. I caught the edge of that look you were giving Derek.”

“Ah.” Clint stared down into his mug. “Is this where you tell me it’s none of my business?”

“Fuck, no.” Clint met his eyes in shock. “They’re family – that makes it our business in my book. No, I figured you needed some background, and the ladies are more likely to pull punches.” He grimaced. “That’s assuming they have the whole picture.”

“You have my undivided attention.”

Thom sat down on one of the kitchen stools. “You ever been divorced?”

“Nope, and never will,” Clint said with an easy grin. “That’s the line of work Derek is in, right?”

“Family law, yes. Divorces, custody battles, adoptions – he deals with a lot of very upset people.” Thom paused. “A lot of newly single women.”

Clint’s eyes flashed, and if he’d been armed he’d have drawn a weapon. “He cheats on her?”

Thom shrugged. “No confirmation. No babies, no loud confrontations… but he stopped publicly denying it about eight, ten months ago. And yeah, that’s when Megan started to be more human. She’s been getting the cold shoulder from what passes for society ladies around here.”

“Why would Meg get the cold shoulder if her husband is cheating?”

“That’s the part the girls won’t tell you…” Thom sighed. “Scuttlebutt says what’s good for the gander is good for the goose, if you take my meaning.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “He cheats on her, she cheats on him, she gets the social stigma?”

“Welcome to life in a small town. Now, I don’t know any of this for sure – ”

“Yeah, I know how scuttlebutt works, Shepherd.” Clint rubbed his forehead.

Thom frowned. “You okay, man?”

Clint chuckled, but there was little humor in it. “Headache. I’ll live. Sorry I snapped, I just…” he searched for the right way to phrase his discomfort. “I don’t like thinking that a Coulson could do that, you know?”

“You got it bad.” Thom reached into an upper cabinet and brought out a bottle of acetaminophen. “Take two of these. And try to remember that none of them are perfect.” Then he grinned. “Unless my wife asks, in which case I said she is.”

~ * ~


	36. Chapter 36

Clint returned to the living room as the slow process of corralling children began. To his surprise, there wasn’t a huge family dinner planned – according to Diane, the various families would have Christmas dinners at their own homes, rather than trying to feed all twenty-six people in the Inn’s dining room. 

The Andersons departed first. Catherine gave Catriona a shy hug and Michael latched around Clint’s knees. He found the three-year-old charming – okay, he found them all charming. He watched Derek and Megan as they packed up gifts and children. They didn’t speak to each other more than necessary, and there were no casual touches. Given how affectionate their children were, it seemed odd… but at least they both treated the children kindly. He put the family drama firmly on a back burner. Maybe Derek was cheating on Megan – maybe she was cheating on him – but right now, that didn’t matter.

Darla’s family left next, with several rounds of hugs and promises that they’d get together again before the triad went back to DC. Jack and Viola had gone home during the chaos of loading the Shepherds into their van, so by the time the door shut behind Thom, only the residents of the Inn remained.

“And that,” Diane said, flopping onto the couch, “is why I don’t feed them all. Goodness gracious, I’m tired.”

“You say that every year,” Alex told her, amused. He bent down to kiss her forehead. “I’m going to start supper. You stay here.”

“See if I don’t.” She opened her eyes to smile at him, and nodded appreciatively at Sarah and Iris, who followed to help him.

Lily and Rose began hauling bedding into the living room again, intent on remaking the cuddle nest for tonight’s movie watching. Phil sat down next to his mother and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Catriona settled on his other side.

Natasha stood by the Christmas tree, a small frown on her face. “Do you mind if I call the Scoobies?” she asked finally.

“Mind?” Phil raised an eyebrow. “Of course not, love.”

Clint patted here into his lap where he sat in one of the armchairs. “Put ‘em on video chat. I’d like to see the kids too.”

She sank into him and pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialing Misty. In moments, she was looking at the smiling face of the Scooby Squad leader. “Hey Nat!” She waved cheerily. “And Clint. Where’s Sensei?”

Natasha turned the phone so that she could see Phil sitting on the couch with his mother and Catriona, and panned it further so she could see the twins on the mattresses. “That’s Diane, Phil’s mom. The twins are Rose and Lily. Say hi to Misty.” The twins waved and Natasha turned the phone back to herself. She settled deeper into Clint’s lap. “You by yourself?”

“Nope.” Misty did a similar pan on her end – her living room contained herself, Maria, Raj, Al, and Chuck. All of them were wearing pajamas, and Natasha recognized the yellow ducky set Maria wore from their slumber party. Misty was wearing a similar set decorated with bunnies. “It’s movie night for the Scoobies.”

“We’re having a Buffy marathon,” Maria added from off-screen, and the other Scoobies laughed.

“We’ll start our movies after dinner,” Natasha told her, smiling. “No Vampire Slayer for us. There’s a couple of Christmas movies on tap. It’s traditional.”

Misty raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I’m guessing calling your trainees isn’t.”

“Calling family is,” Phil called from the couch.

“Aw, man, sensei, don’t start with the warm fuzzies,” Misty griped, but there was no heat to it.

Catriona chuckled. “Still allergic to familial terms, laoch beag?”

“Damn straight,” Misty agreed immediately.

“Don’t play coy, Buffy,” Al chuckled. “You already called Lance and Angie, and CJ called you with Sam.”

Natasha snickered at the outraged look on Misty’s face. “I see. But that wasn’t family, right?”

Misty sniffed in exaggerated disdain. “No way. That was me being a responsible squad leader – hey!” The picture on the screen twisted wildly as the phone went flying, and Natasha heard a thump as Misty was tackled. “Ack, I’m being smothered by Scoobies!”

Maria rescued the phone, her laughing eyes coming in to focus on Natasha’s screen. “Don’t mind her. She’s had a cup of cheer, as Peter O’Toole says – more than one.” Something of Natasha’s concern showed on her face, because Maria smiled. “She’s fine, Nat.”

“Just ruffled.” Raj took the phone from Maria and peered at Natasha and Clint. “You cool, Romanoff? Natasha,” he corrected himself.

“If you call me Romanoff, I’ll call you Doc,” she threatened, but she was smiling. “Yes, we’re good. Two of Phil’s sisters and their ten kids—” 

“Jesus.”

“—just left, and the abrupt lack of chaos apparently made me think of you guys.” She grinned, and Raj looked a little surprised to see the expression.

“I have no doubt that your Scoobies could fill the quiet left by my grandchildren,” Diane said. 

Misty seized the phone back from Raj. “Hey, it’s the matriarch herself! Hi, Sensei’s mom.” Diane waved when Natasha turned the phone towards her. “Thank you for teaching your son to bake,” she said solemnly. “My tastebuds are grateful. My waist not so much, but that’s why we work out with nascha, right?”

{How drunk is she?} Clint wondered telepathically.

“Grasshopper?” Phil asked calmly. “Do I need to worry about you tonight?”

“Don’t you worry about us every night?” Misty retorted, but shook her head. “I’m safe at home with Maria… and three Scoobies. I’m good, sensei. Honest.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You will eat something solid for dinner, and have at least two glasses of water before bed.” Catriona pinched him, murmuring something about commands.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and saluted. It wasn’t the sloppy, casual salute that Clint tended to use as sarcastic emphasis – this was as sharp as Maria’s formal one.

“Thank you,” he smiled.

Maria took the phone away from Misty again. “I’ll take care of her,” she promised quietly. “All of them.”

“We know you will.” Clint had been fairly quiet, enjoying watching, but something in Maria’s tone made him answer. “Never doubted it.” Then he grinned, letting mischievousness light up his eyes. “Maybe we needed to let you see that we hadn’t killed each other, or anyone else.”

Chuck snorted. “Like there’d be any evidence if you had.”

Lily giggled from her spot on the mattress nest, and Clint watched Maria pale as she ran through the conversation to see if it had been kid-friendly. “It’s okay, Ria. It’s the twins – you can say pretty much anything around them. Lily’s about a thousand years old emotionally, and I think Rose is maybe two years younger.” He winked at Rose, who stuck out her tongue at him. “You’re kinda proving my case, Rosie.”

“Be nice,” Catriona chided, which made the triad chuckle.

Sarah reentered the room, Iris behind her. They had followed Alex into the kitchen to help with dinner preparations, and now were returning to recruit helpers. Natasha turned the phone towards them. “Meet two more of the Coulsons – that’s Sarah, Phil’s baby sister on the right and her wife Iris. They’re the twins’ moms.”

Maria made an approving noise, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Misty laughed and took the phone from her. “Hi, Baby Coulson,” Misty waved. “And Mrs. Baby Coulson.” Her eyes flicked off screen, and Natasha thought she was making eye contact with Maria.

“God, Phil, you didn’t tell me they were adorable,” Sarah laughed, walking over to look more closely at the video on Natasha’s phone. “Hi, slightly drunk Scooby.”

“More than slightly,” Maria corrected, taking the phone from Misty again. “I’m Maria, this is Misty – the three hoodlums in the back are Chuck, Raj, and Al.”

“We’ve seen a picture of the rest of them,” Iris said, smiling. “You weren’t in it, though. It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if it is over screens.”

Maria smiled. “Likewise.” She looked over her shoulder, where the scuffling wrestling match had grown in volume. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go be bossy.” She handed the phone back to Misty.

“We should let you go,” Natasha said, after watching the brawl devolve into laughter. “You’ve got Buffy the Vampire Slayer to watch, and we’ve got dinner to be had. I just wanted to…”

“Check on us?” Misty supplied. Her smile was less inebriated, and Natasha wondered briefly how much of it was an act to force the Scoobies to relax. “All’s quiet on the homefront.”

“Quiet might be pushing it, but at least all’s well,” Clint amended with a grin. “Merry Christmas, Grasshopper.”

They ended the call, and joined the rest of the family in the dining room for supper, followed by the traditional Coulson Christmas Eve experience: White Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas watched from the cuddle nest in the living room, while sugar cookies and hot cocoa were passed around.

By the time the girls were carried up to their beds, Phil was fairly certain he’d never felt so loved.

~ * ~

“Come on, get up.” Clint pulled at the comforter Phil had tucked around himself. “It’s Christmas! There are presents!”

Phil shifted enough that one eye could peer out of his blanket cocoon. “Pretty bird, I love you more than life itself, but it’s not even six o’clock.”

“I brought coffee!”

“You may as well give up, loverling.” Natasha’s voice was drowsy as well, but the hand she trailed down Phil’s body was not. “How about a compromise, dearling?” She looked up at Clint, her eyes mischievous. “We’ll wake up, but not get out of bed yet.”

Clint grinned. “I can go for that.” He carefully deposited coffee mugs and carafe on the nightstand and slid back under the covers.

When they did emerge, finally, Clint was bouncing on his toes. Phil, now fortified with caffeine, laughed at his childish delight. “You’re worse than the girls.”

“It’s Christmas!” Clint crowed, and dashed over to kiss Phil’s cheek before scampering back down the stairs to the living room.

“He’s adorable,” Natasha murmured. “I wish you could see his mind, it’s all sparkly.”

Phil slid an arm around her waist. “I can see it in his eyes.” He kissed her tenderly. “And your mind, my love? Are you sparkly too?”

She tilted her head, a smile twitching the edges of her lips. “Probably.”

“Hey! Come on!” Clint called up the stairs. Catriona was standing next to him, looking very amused.

Natasha laughed at descended the stairs to join them. Phil followed but made a beeline for the kitchen and a coffee refill. Christmas or not, it was still early – and he’d enjoyed sleeping later while they’d been here.

Diane was at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon in a culinary cabaret. She met his eyes and smiled. “Fortifying yourself?”

Phil grinned. “I’d forgotten what Christmas morning was like, when you’ve got gifts to give.”

She served him breakfast – she didn’t have to ask what he wanted – and started on French toast. “I’ve got a few that I’ll be excited to see opened as well.”

When the French toast was done and Phil was satisfied that Clint had eaten enough – between bouncing on his chair and drinking enough coffee to fuel a regiment – the triad and Catriona joined the twins and their mothers in the living room. Diane and Alex followed, bringing more coffee and tea.

“Alright, who goes first?” Alex asked.

Lily pointed imperiously at Catriona. “Oldest first, Papa. You know that.”

He chuckled but conceded the point. “Well, Catriona?” He gestured to the pile of gifts at her feet.

Catriona picked up a squashy wrapped package that had her name in Lily’s handwriting, and proved to be a knitted scarf – long enough to wrap around her neck several times – in a luminous white that would look lovely with her Druidic robe. “Thank you, lass,” Catriona said, petting it. “Tis a kindly gift, and lovely workmanship.” Lily beamed at her.

Natasha leaned over and whispered to Phil, “Don’t you dare tell them I’m older than your parents.” He patted her knee and winked at her.

Alex picked up a box with his name on it, and raised his eyebrows at Phil. He slit the paper neatly and uncovered a perfect miniature Lola in a plexiglass case. He lifted the cover to poke at the model with a gentle finger. “The detail is incredible! Where did you find this?”

“I made it,” Phil answered with a smile. “Did you honestly think I’d trust anyone else to get her details right?” There was general laughter at that.

“She’s beautiful.” Alex replaced the cover and gazed at the model, eyes suspiciously bright. “Thank you, son.”

Diane opened a card from Catriona, which had inside it a botanical sketch. At her inquiring look, Catriona explained, “It seemed imprudent to wrap them, but I have several raspberry bushes ready to plant in your garden, Mistress Coulson.” Her eyes flickered to Natasha. “I thought perhaps you’d like having a steady supply of them.”

It was Phil’s turn next, and Clint and Natasha traded glances before Natasha handed over her gift for him. Resting in an oak box were the last two Captain America trading cards he was missing – in near-mint condition.

“Nat,” he breathed. “How…?”

“I pulled a few strings,” she said, smiling. “It was criminal, you not having a complete set.” He met her eyes, and hoped she could see his delight and surprise.

“Uncle Clint, your turn,” Lily announced, and handed him a package.

It was also squishy, and he was unsurprised to find a knitted item from Lily. He was surprised at the specifics, though – she’d made him fingerless gloves. In bright purple.

“These are awesome,” he said, immediately putting them on. “Oh man, these are soft.” He rubbed the back of his hands against his cheeks.

“You look silly,” Natasha told him, leaning over to kiss him. 

“But warm!”

Sarah and Iris each opened a gift – crocheted slippers from Diane and another knitted hat from Lily – before it was Natasha’s turn. She picked up the neatly wrapped pink package with a raised eyebrow, looking at the tag – from Alex. Inside was an antique music box. When she opened the lid, a delicate porcelain ballerina twirled to the tune of The Firebird Suite. “Alex,” she breathed. With one finger she touched the tulle tutu, her eyes brimming over.

He smiled gently. “I thought you might like that. That was my great-aunt Bertie’s. None of my girls – or granddaughters – dance. I wanted it to go to someone who’d appreciate it.”

“Like it?” she repeated, her eyes still on the turning ballerina. “It’s… I…” She gave up trying to speak and instead stood, crossed the room to him and burrowed her head in his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Alex rubbed her back. “You’re quite welcome, Natasha.”

The gifts continued. When next it was Catriona’s turn, she unwrapped a dark green crocheted afghan from Diane that she promptly wrapped around herself, making soft noises of delight at the weight and texture. Diane laughed at her, but it was kindly. There were more knitted goods from Lily – a tea cozy for Phil’s office and a fanciful unicorn hat for Natasha. Rose had knitted Catriona a hat that matched the scarf from her twin, and a fair replica of Robin Hood’s woodsman’s cap for Clint. For Phil she’d found a Star Trek tie – tiny Enterprises subtle enough that he thought he could get away with wearing it at the office. For Natasha, she’d painted. The landscape was of the Inn just as the sun rose, and Natasha hugged it to her like a teddy bear.

Diane had also crocheted gifts for Phil and Clint. For the archer, she’d crocheted a sweater in the same brilliant purple yarn that Lily had made his gloves out of. It wasn’t particularly stylish, but Clint immediately slid it on and declared it was like wearing a hug. 

For Phil, Diana had crocheted a pair of slippers – hideously ugly slippers that, when put on, made his feet look like they belonged to a Hobbit. All of them laughed themselves nearly silly as Phil tromped up and down the living room in them, grinning ear-to-ear.

Interspersed with the silly gifts were more serious ones. A worn leather case handed to Clint opened to reveal a spotting scope – which, Alex told him, had been owned by his grandfather. Clint had to blink away tears to look through it properly.

Diane had boxed up her old college cameras and lenses for Natasha, now that she knew her daughter-in-law enjoyed photography and scrapbooking. Natasha touched the heavy camera with a wondering finger. “Did you take baby pictures with these?” she asked, looking up at her mother-in-law.

“Yes,” Diane agreed. “Wedding pictures, baby pictures – those lenses have seen a lifetime.”

In return, Natasha handed Diane a framed photo, taken last year – Natasha had caught Phil in a moment of complete relaxation, coffee cup in hand, smiling across the table at his parents. Diane ran her finger over the glass. “The picture is beautiful, lovey, but the better gift is seeing my son so happy.”

Alex passed Phil a small box, saying, “You’d have had this last year, if you’d given me more warning.” That made Phil grin in anticipation, and he opened the box eagerly. Nestled inside was a large men’s signet ring. “It was my father’s,” Alex explained to Clint and Natasha. “Goes to the oldest male in the line when he gets married.”

Phil slid it on his right ring finger and flexed his hand. “And I can wear it at work,” he said smugly to his spouses. “It’s a family signet ring – no one will know it’s also the family marriage blessing.” He extracted himself from the couch to wrap an arm around his father’s shoulders. “Thanks, Dad.”

Catriona was surprised to be handed a box from Alex, and she opened it slowly. Inside was a set of keys on a plain ring. She looked up, confused, to find Alex and Diane watching her. “Those open every door on this property,” Alex told her. “Every door and every gate. You’re part of our family, Catriona, and we want you to have the same access here that our children do.” The druid had clutched the keys to her, unable to speak – though they seemed to understand her silence.

Phil passed two identical flocked boxes to his spouses, sitting back with hands clasped together to hide his nervousness. Inside each box was a triquetra similar to the one he’d given Catriona. It was made of black metal that matched their wedding rings, and embellished with sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts. The front had the familiar ‘An Teaglach Tofa’ inscription but on the back it read ‘Better Together.’ Phil lifted his own from underneath his shirt, showing that it matched.

With each of their pendants was a leather item – for Clint, a wrist cuff and for Natasha a thigh holster. “When you’re in the field,” Phil explained, “and can’t wear jewelry, you can slip the pendant into the slot, and it’ll hold it against your skin, hidden.”

“I guess we were thinking on the same lines, Moonbeam, because I bought us all matching gifts too,” Clint said, embarrassed. He handed out his gifts, though they were in considerably heavier boxes. Each held a matched pair of pistols – perfectly serviceable and almost identical to their service weapons. The only cosmetic difference was the interlocking motif around the barrels – MB-SS-PB. Phil ran his finger over the letters curiously, then began to laugh.

“Moonbeam, Sunshine, Pretty Bird. Clever.” He kissed Clint.

Natasha had already partially disassembled one of the pistols, and was pleasantly surprised to find a higher quality manufacturing than their service weapons. “I know a guy,” Clint said with a smirk. “They aren’t standard.”

For Catriona, Clint produced a long thin package. She unrolled it curiously and found a stout oak quarterstaff, capped on both ends in bronze. It was perfectly balanced – evidenced by her immediately balancing it on her index finger – and weighted on both ends. “I know you don’t like violence, but I want to know you can protect yourself. This is a good, sturdy staff – and Maria has agreed to help me teach you how to use it. It’s not something you’d use to kill somebody, really… just stop them, so you can get away.”

Catriona caressed the warm oak. “If you wish me to learn, dhearthair, I shall endeavor to do so. I thank you for this – both the gift, and the knowledge that you wish me to be safe.” He beamed at her.

Natasha’s gift to Clint was one of the largest and bulkiest under the tree, and he slit the paper open with a puzzled expression. Inside were a variety of woodworking tools and two large books. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Turn to the flagged page,” she told him, hugging herself. He did so, flipping it open to a diagram of how to build a crib. “I figure by the time we need it, you’ll have figured out how to make it,” she murmured.

He blinked, looked down at the page, back at her, over to Phil, and then back down at the page. A smile stared in his eyes and by the time it reached his mouth, he was laughing. “Sunshine, this is amazing.”

“He watches woodworking shows on PBS,” Phil whispered to his parents. “I thought it was just a quirk.”

“It is,” Clint agreed, running his fingers along a planer. “But now it’s a hobby.”

The final gift of the afternoon was from Natasha to Catriona. All eyes were on the druid as she lifted the cover of the scrapbook. Her fingers ghosted over the photos, touching on the faces of the people she now considered kin.

She didn’t speak, but Natasha could read her well enough, and just hugged her tightly.

~ * ~


	37. Chapter 37

By mutual accord, Christmas afternoon was spent quietly. Alex disappeared upstairs – Phil suspected he was going to take a nap – and Diane, Sarah, and Iris went to the kitchen to prepare the Christmas feast. Rose took her easel and paints outside to capture the winter sunlight, but Lily opted to stay inside. The triad and Catriona settled in to the living room, curled together on the couch examining various gifts. 

“What is significant about these cards?” Catriona asked, turning one of the Captain America trading cards over in her hands. At Phil’s outraged look, she amended, “Not what is special about the Captain – these specific cards. Why were they difficult to obtain?”

Phil leaned over her to touch the archival-grade covering of one card. “This one has the Captain and his Sergeant, and it’s the only one in the set that shows them touching.” He tapped the card where it showed a dark-haired man’s hand clasped around the forearm of the blonde. “There aren’t many on the market.”

“Why not?” Clint asked. He craned his head to look at the card, frowning. “Is it because they look… umm…together?”

“That’s the going theory,” Phil agreed. “Rumor has it someone started buying them up and destroying them in the sixties – someone who objected to the idea that the Captain and his Sergeant were anything but friends.” Phil touched the image of clasped forearms again.

“Did you ever meet them, Aunt Catriona?” Lily asked from the floor. She’d been reading one of the books Alex had given her. “You were alive then, right?”

“Aye,” Catriona agreed, “I was alive, but I did not meet the Captain or the Sergeant. I was not in Europe during the Second World War. I spent part of it in Japan, but the remainder I spent on Asgard.”

Lily frowned. “Why were you in Japan?”

“Why were you in Asgard?” Phil added.

“I was in Japan to extricate one of the Warrior families,” Catriona explained. “The Nakamura line is an unbroken heritage of Warriors spanning from present back to the Tokugawa shogunate – more than four centuries of service to Gaia. It was necessary.” She shrugged.

“And Asgard?”

Catriona sighed. “I am best suited, among the druids, to represent Gaia on Asgard. While Ronan has more applicable Gifts… he is not well liked by the court. When we must ask a boon of them, it behooves us for myself to request it – though in this case, even I was denied.” She shook her head, frowning. “They refused to act, to ally themselves with us against the Third Reich. It was… discouraging.”

“Did the other druids fight in the war?” Lily asked, abandoning her book in favor of the conversation. 

“Druids do not fight,” Catriona corrected gently. “But we did play a role. Roderick, of course.” She touched the Captain America card again with a sad smile. “Cormac worked with several artillery divisions. Bran was part of the naval fleet in the Pacific. Malachy and Padraig both escorted refugees through the Alps. Declan moved around, hoping to keep the weather too unstable for bombers to fly… it was one of our more frenetic periods.”

Lily’s expression had become more puzzled as Catriona spoke. “Why couldn’t you just… magic in and kill Hitler? Do that planewalking thing, like you did to get here last year?”

The druid paused, looking at Lily with a thoughtful air. She allowed herself to focus only on Lily – on her potential Acolyte. “Druids are not omnipotent, tuar ceatha faidh. We are not immune to capture or torture. It is also very dangerous for us to use lethal force – to end the life of another, even in defense of our own. The bond which we share with Gaia holds life sacred, and the end of a life reverberates through that bond in a way that can damage the druid in question. That is how many of our brethren died, during the Roman massacres – psychic shock.”

Though child and druid were oblivious, the triad exchanged startled and concerned looks. {Did she just use Gaelic on Lily?} Clint asked Natasha silently.

{She did,} Natasha confirmed, her eyes wide.

“Does it damage you just to hit somebody?” Lily pressed. “Or is it just if you kill them? What if I had to?”

“As a healer, it hurts my soul to wound another – though that is due to my individual Gifts, and not entirely to being a druid. Cormac, for instance, has been able to inflict serious wounds with his blades without undue consequence to his soul. I would not suggest it as an area of experimentation, however,” Catriona cautioned to Lily. “While your empathic gifts are, at present, merely observational – it would not surprise me to see them develop further, perhaps to emotion sharing or manipulation. Were that true, inflicting pain upon another would rebound upon you.”

“Wait.” Phil held up his hands, glad now that his parents, Lily’s mothers and Rose were not present.

Lily started, brought back to her surroundings by his interruption. She looked at her uncles and aunt, read their auras, and sighed. “Oops.” She carefully put a bookmark in place and set aside the book, rising to join the triad and Catriona on the couch. “I guess I’m really bad at keeping secrets.”

Catriona immediately moved aside her afghan to make room for Lily on her lap. “If it is any consolation, faidh, I have been unable to keep many secrets from the triad myself.”

“What does her name mean?” Natasha asked quietly.

“Rainbow seer.” It was Lily that answered as she tucked her head against Catriona’s shoulder. “Kinda cool, huh? Except now all three of you are freaking out. I told you that would happen, Aunt Catriona.”

“Not freaking out,” Clint protested. Lily kicked him lightly. “Alright, how about trying not to freak out? It’s kind of a big thing.”

Catriona smoothed Lily’s blonde hair. “It is not as significant as you fear, dhearthair. There is not yet a binding between faidh – between Lily and the Goddess. Gaia has not yet made the offer.”

“That’s surprisingly not comforting,” Phil sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, lowering the other to touch Lily’s ankle. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you becoming a Warrior, Lily-lass.”

She frowned. “Not a Warrior, Uncle Phil. A Druid, like Aunt Catriona.”

Phil stared at her. He opened his mouth to speak – twice – without sound emerging. No one leapt to fill the silence, and it was several moments before he could force words to come. “What about Rose?”

“Whether Rose will develop Gifts such that would put her in service to the Goddess is yet to be seen,” Catriona murmured. “In truth, tuar ceatha faidh comes to her Gifts far earlier than most – she was already showing signs last year. I would not expect Rosalie to manifest her Gifts for another turn of the wheel, perhaps two.”

Clint leaned back against the couch, thoughtful. If Lily did become a Druid – and he knew that was a big If – and Rose did not… he couldn’t suppress a shudder at the idea of Lily living centuries without her twin. But the idea of their niece being the first new druid in a coon’s age… he liked that. Liked the idea that Iris and Sarah had taken this little bit of a thing and raised her into someone that the Goddess thought enough of to name in Gaelic.

“You’re pretty damned awesome,” Clint told Lily. “I don’t know if you can see it in my aura or whatnot, but I’m sitting here thinking how cool it is that you’re this awesome at twelve, and I can’t wait to see how much cooler you get as you grow up.”

Phil shot him a grateful look as Lily launched herself from Catriona’s lap to Clint’s. “You don’t think I’m a freak?” the girl asked quietly.

“Nope.” Clint cuddled her close, feeling his spouses do the same where they could touch her. “Definitely not a freak. Am I a little worried, because the grown-up stuff you might deal with is big and scary? Hell yeah, but I figure that’s part of being family. I worry about the Scoobies, too, and they’re older than you are – and most of them carry guns.” He tapped her nose playfully.

“Please don’t tell everyone,” Lily beseeched Clint in a low whisper. 

“I’m not going to go blabbing it,” Clint promised. “But your mom and momma should know, at least a little. You don’t have to tell them everything, but…” he glanced at Catriona, “I get the feeling this is only going to get harder to hide, and your moms would be pretty hurt if they found out by accident and knew you’d kept it from them.”

Catriona smoothed a hand over Lily’s blonde hair. “Dhearthair is correct, alanna m’chroi – but I will speak to them on your behalf, if you find yourself unable.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Rose would argue with you that only I should tell my story.”

“Praise be to Gaia, your sister has not yet experienced a truth which needs to be spoken, but of which the telling is unbearable.” Catriona kissed Lily’s forehead. “I seek not to speak out of turn, but to spare you the discomfort. Would you allow me this, tuar ceatha faidh?”

Lily peered closely at the druid, her eyes searching. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, please.”

~ * ~


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest you think this is an unreasonable amount of food for Christmas dinner, it is an exact description of the spread my parents put on every year – except for the raspberry tart. (My mom tends to make fudge instead.)

There was so much food on the table for Christmas dinner that even Clint was surprised.

Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, steamed cauliflower, steamed broccoli, cheese sauce, green bean casserole, cranberry relish, dinner rolls, gravy, stuffing both cooked in the bird and from a casserole dish – it filled the table and the kitchen counters to overflowing.

Clint would not have been surprised if the table had collapsed under the sheer weight.

And that didn’t include dessert! Apple pie, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, raspberry tart, ice cream – Clint was pretty sure that Heaven was catered by Diane Coulson.

Natasha shot Clint an amused look. “You can’t make fun of my raspberry obsession any more, dearling.”

He scoffed, adding another dollop of cheese sauce to his cauliflower. “Why limit myself to one food?”

Alex had been watching Clint work through two plates of food with amusement. “Does he always eat like this?” he asked Phil.

Phil flashed his father a smile. “There’s usually fewer vegetables on his plate.”

“Hey, I eat them whenever you cook them,” Clint protested. “I just don’t eat the crap they call vegetables in the cafeteria.”

“Point,” Phil laughed.

“I don’t remember the food in the mess being that bad,” Alex protested. 

Natasha snickered. “Oh, it’s not – to the average SHIELD agent. For us, though… and our clan… we’ve had Phil’s cooking.”

Catriona hummed in agreement. “You are quite skilled at the hearth, treorai.” Then, concerned she’d offend their hosts she added, “It appears to run in the family.”

“It skips a few,” Iris said dryly. “I love my wife dearly, but – ” Sarah cut her off by whacking her arm with a serving spoon.

Clint’s brow furrowed. “But you’re in the kitchen all the time?”

“I make a decent helper,” Sarah told him. “And I’m damned good at KP – but no, I can’t cook like the rest. I do, however, have Mom’s organization magic.” She winked at her mother. “If I weren’t an apprentice innkeeper, I’d probably be a tactical wizard like Phil.”

“Not a wizard, Sarah-bear.” Phil’s reply was quiet, almost regretful. “I’m a mere mortal.”

Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance. {Is he still fretting about not being Chosen?} she asked her husband silently. 

{Evidence points to yes.}

Phil leaned over and tapped Clint’s forehead. “Cut it out, you two.” He flashed Natasha a look that said he’d have treated her to the same touch if she’d been in reach. 

“How did you know…?” Lily asked, looking between them. She had the sense not to finish her question, but Phil sent her a sharp look.

“I can always tell when they’re talking about me behind my back,” he said lightly, but his eyes remained fixed on her, silently demanding to know if she could tell also. Lily nodded slowly in response to his unspoken question, and he turned his attention back to his dinner, hoping it had gone unnoticed.

“It wasn’t bad,” Clint protested. “Just… you know…” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Private.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Pretty bird, you wouldn’t know private if it reared back and bit you on the nose.”

“He’s got a point, dearling,” Natasha teased. “You’re the one who tells tales in the cafeteria.”

Clint squawked in protest. “Yeah, but they’re like – years old. It’s not like I’m talking about the real stuff!”

Diane laughed. “Tales of romance, I take it?”

“My husband has a reputation as a ladies’ man,” Phil said with a smile. “Ask anyone at SHIELD – well, anyone outside our clan. They’ll tell you Clint has the most… hmm… adventurous tales.”

Iris gazed at Clint appraisingly. “That’s quite a feat of misdirection. No one suspects the truth, because your reputation makes it ludicrous?”

“Even if,” Natasha added as she took a second helping of mashed potatoes, “it is incredibly infuriating to be asked by junior agents whether they’ve got a shot at luring Hawkeye into bed.”

~ * ~

Catriona was dithering.

In the course of her service to the Goddess, she had spoken to the parents of dozens of potential acolytes – those who would serve Her in many capacities, and those whose Gifts required instruction but who ultimately refused Her offer.

She’d never had to have this conversation with friends before – never been emotionally invested in both student and parents. Always before, she had presented this information to parents as a fait accompli – this child must be trained. This child will be trained. The Druids will see to this child’s training.

She didn’t think that tack would work with Sarah and Iris – and she didn’t think that was fair to Lily, either. But standing in the hallway doubting her approach was not helping either.

Catriona finally raised her hand to knock on their bedroom door, startling both Sarah and Iris.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Mistresses, but I wish to speak of your daughter, and I was unsure whether it was a conversation to be shared.” The druid smiled to hide her nervousness, though she doubted it fooled Iris.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, okay. Come in.” She gestured to the sitting room. Iris seated herself gracefully on the loveseat and Sarah joined her, taking her wife’s hand.

Catriona sat in the nearby armchair, folding her hands in her lap. “I come to speak of Lilabeth,” she began formally, then paused. “My apologies. I allowed myself to fall back on habit.”

Iris lifted an eyebrow. “Not the first time you’ve had this conversation, then.”

“No, Mistress. Iris. It is not.” Catriona sighed. “It is unique in that I have never before felt conflicted about it.”

“This about Lily’s mama mojo?” Sarah asked quietly. At Catriona’s sharp look, she smiled briefly. “I overheard her mention it to Clint. Kind of figured this conversation was coming. Are you here to ask if you can teach her?”

Iris, who was watching Catriona’s face closely, spoke before the druid could. “You’re not going to ask, are you?”

Catriona flinched. “Perhaps it would be more politic were I to ask, but…” she shrugged apologetically. “Her Gifts are such that she will require teaching. It is not merely my choice, or hers. She must be taught.”

“What kind of Gifts?” Sarah demanded. 

The druid paused. Lily had not been comfortable with her family knowing the extent of her Gifts – but her mothers needed to know the potential complications. “Are you familiar with empathy? Not merely the emotional concept,” Catriona hastened to add. “Telempathy would be a more accurate term.”

“Just what I read in crappy fantasy novels,” Sarah admitted. She slipped her arm around her wife’s waist and snuggled Iris closer. “It has to do with knowing what other people are feeling, right?”

“Aye. Your lass sees emotions in others – she sees them in colors, though I expect she will refine the ability even farther, as she ages.” Catriona looked down at her clasped hands. “I have been offering guidance to her since she first mentioned her Gift, a year ago.”

Iris let her gaze sharpen. “You’ve been grooming our daughter for service to Gaia for a year without telling us?”

“No!” Catriona’s denial was immediate enough to cause Iris to relax slightly. “I did not know then whether her Gift would become something which drew the Goddess’s attention. I wondered, but the lass asked me not to speak of it – she is frightened.”

“Why?” Sarah’s voice was tight – it was apparent Lily was not the only one frightened.

“To a young girl, anything which sets her apart is frightening,” Catriona reminded them, voice gentle. “She fears being labeled different – and, though she would never speak of it, she fears being a disappointment to you.” The druid paused, lifting her hand to the gold triquetra pendant at her neck. “It is why I offered to speak to you on her behalf – she would see your shock and anger, and mistake its cause. I would spare her that.” Catriona’s eyes rose now, meeting Sarah’s. “I would spare her most anything in my power.”

Sarah scowled. “Yeah, okay. You love my girls, I get it. That doesn’t excuse you deciding her education without us.”

Catriona visibly struggled with her answer. “I regret that you feel this decision has been wrest from you, but it is no decision at all – Lilabeth must be trained. Tuar ceatha faidh – Rainbow Seer – has a Gift which, if left untrained, will drive her quite mad.” Iris sucked in a breath and reached for Sarah’s hand. “I have undertaken her training, and will continue to guide her in the use of her Gift for as long as she will consent to my instruction. Whether she will be invited to serve the Goddess at a later date is out of my control, just as it is yours. I am not grooming her, as you say, to serve Gaia.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I would welcome her as my acolyte – as a potential druid – but it is not for me to choose.”

Sarah started to respond, fire in her eyes, but Iris silenced her with a gentle touch. “Tell us what would happen if she weren’t trained,” Iris suggested. “Give us the worst-case scenario.”

“If her Gift were to stay at its current power, with no increase as she matures…” Catriona shook her head. “Sooner or later, she would inadvertently reveal knowledge gleaned through it, and be exposed. Depending on the circumstances of that revelation… the best that could – no, you asked for the worst.” Catriona shuddered. “There are those who would seek her out, were her Gift known. Those who would seek to use it, and use her. Imagine how valuable she would be to a businessman, to a politician – to know what one’s opponent was feeling.” Catriona’s eyes were distant, her fingers clutching convulsively at her knees. “There are many ways one such individual could break the lass to their will, and none of them are pleasant.”

“And if her Gift grows?” Iris prompted.

“Empaths often have some ability to manipulate emotions,” Catriona continued reluctantly. “And it is often puberty which catalyzes a Gift to its full potential. That your daughter has such strength at her age is unusual, and suggests that she will be quite powerful when she matures. If she gains a projective capability without learning to control it – ” She had to pause and swallow. “The last such instance I know of, the empath caused a riot and was killed in the fracas.”

Iris nodded slowly, a restraining hand still resting on Sarah. “I can see why you feel this is not optional.”

“She is a bright child,” Catriona hastened to add. “I believe that she can learn control – she already has remarkable poise. I do not believe that she will come to ill as a result of her Gift. But I do fear that it may cause her pain, isolate her from her peers – and I fear that she will be lonely.” She ducked her head, studiously examining her clasped hands. “Gifts of such power are a burden to wield.”

“What about Rose?” Sarah pressed.

Catriona looked up and met her eyes. “It is likely that Rose will develop a Gift of some kind as she matures – likely during or immediately after puberty. I cannot imagine Lily having such a Gift and her twin not sharing the propensity. I have no way of knowing what that Gift will be – and the Goddess has been silent on the issue. This is another reason that I am speaking to you now – when Rose does come into her Gift, she will likely need training as well.”

“Will you take them away from us, then?” Sarah asked, her voice low and dangerous. Catriona recognized it as one of Phil’s tones – one that caused her to straighten in her chair.

“No. Certainly not.” She shook her head, curls bouncing. “They will need their mothers, their cousins, their family. I cannot provide that. There may come a time where they need a period of intensive training, during which I would like to have their undivided attention – but it would not be for long, and it would not be without their – and your – consent.” She paused, eyes darting between Iris and Sarah. “If you believe nothing else, please believe that I wish only the best for your daughters. They are not merely prospective students to me.”

“I know,” Iris murmured. “We know.” She unfolded herself from the loveseat and rose. “You have given us a great deal to think about, Catriona.”

Recognizing a dismissal, Catriona rose as well and quietly left their rooms.

~ * ~


	39. Chapter 39

“I may never eat again,” Clint groaned as he flopped down onto their bed.

Phil laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand down Clint’s back. “I highly doubt that. Mom talked about French toast in the morning.”

“Ugh.” Clint buried his face in the pillow, eyes scrunched closed. “I don’t even want French toast right now.”

Natasha stepped out of the bathroom in her pajamas, grinning at them both. “You’ll be singing another tune by morning, pretty bird.”

Clint opened his eyes, cocking an eyebrow at her. “You don’t call me that.”

“Yes, but it worked with the ‘singing’ taunt,” Phil defended, chuckling.

“Does it bother you?” Natasha picked up her hairbrush, but surrendered it to Phil when he gestured for it. Instead she sat down on the floor in front of him, content to let him brush her hair.

“Not exactly.” Clint rolled onto his side so that he could watch Phil brush their wife’s hair. It was such a simple, domestic thing… but it warmed his heart, every time he watched it. “Just feels weird. I like being your dearling.” His admission was half-shy, and made Natasha look back over her shoulder at him. 

She felt Phil tap her gently with the brush, reminding her that he was occupied with her hair. “Sorry, loverling.” She didn’t untwist, though, reaching out her hand for Clint to take. “You’re always my dearling, Clint,” she murmured. “Half of my heart. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Phil leaned over to kiss Clint, folding himself to do the same to Natasha. Clint had these odd moments of sentiment – flickers of an insecure child in his eyes. In someone else, they might have been annoyances… needing to reassure his husband that he was loved, cherished. Not so with Clint – Phil planned happily to spend the rest of his life proving to Clint and Natasha that they deserved every sliver of happiness that he could eke out of their lives. “Achroi ghra,” he whispered into the kisses, and abandoned the hairbrush when Natasha twisted fully to face the bed, coming up on her knees to reach for Clint as well.

“Achroi ghra,” Natasha repeated, her fingers stroking Clint’s cheek. “Mine. Ours.”

“Yours,” Clint agreed, swallowing hard. Goddess, he loved them. Never before them had reassurance been offered like this – immediate, complete. Hell, he barely got three steps down the self-doubt spiral before one of them was there to pull him out.

“Merry Christmas,” Phil breathed into Clint’s ear. “I wanted to give you both the world – will you settle for my everything?”

Natasha chuckled low in her throat, one hand on each of her husbands. “You are both hopeless romantics,” she informed them. “And,” she added as their eyes fixed on her, darkening, “I love that about you.”

~ * ~

Boxing Day – as Catriona insisted they call the day after Christmas, despite it not being an American holiday – was too cold for outdoor revelry, and most of the venues in town were closed as Christmas had fallen on a Sunday. The triad and Catriona debated their plan for the day as they warmed up after morning meditation.

“At least I can wear shoes,” Phil teased as Catriona rubbed her toes.

“At least I do not go skyclad,” she retorted.

Natasha’s eyebrows leapt. “Naked? Seriously? I thought that was urban legend.”

“Nay – though I will admit, it is a practice more true to modern practitioners than my contemporaries.” She gave her toes a final brisk rub. “My archdruid would have quietly lost his mind had I suggested meditating in naught but my skin,” she said with a laugh.

Clint poured more coffee – he’d had a cup before they went outside – and regarded Catriona curiously. “What – or who – is an archdruid?”

Catriona selected a sachet of tea – she’d stocked a canister in the kitchen with her favorites – and poured hot water over it. “Archdruid is a term for a high-ranking druid – it is not applicable, with only eleven of us. Though,” she added thoughtfully, “I suppose that it would be accurate for any of the others to refer to me as such. It implies a student-teacher relationship. My archdruid was the druid in charge of my education and initiation. His name was Cuidightheach – ”

“Gesundheit.”

She shot Clint an irritated look. “Very funny, dhearthair. He has been on my mind as of late – I suppose it is due to contemplating Lily’s training.”

“Ah… did you have that conversation with Sarah and Iris last night?” Phil asked delicately.

Her sigh confirmed it before she spoke. “Aye, though I fear it did not go as well as I had hoped.” She paused to sip her tea. “Granted, it could well have gone worse – there have been initiates in the past whose families disowned them, or attempted to confine them in an attempt to limit our access.” What could only be described as a smirk lifted one corner of her lips. “They were unsuccessful. Gaia can be… very persistent.”

Natasha snorted. “I’m sure.” She made her own cup of tea, automatically brewing one for Phil. “So… are you avoiding them, or Lily? Or should we plan something with the kids?”

“I have no intention of avoiding the lass – though I may give her mothers space. I am quite willing for an activity with the children,” Catriona smiled. “I am unlikely to turn down such an opportunity.”

Phil looked out on the frosty vista – beautiful, but cold. “Board games?”

Clint blanched. “Are you nuts? You think I want to play Risk against two of the best tactical minds I know?”

“Oh, it could be worse, dearling,” Natasha teased. “It could be Scrabble.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Just… no.” The memory of an evening spent with the Scoobies over a Monopoly board was vivid and painful. “I didn’t see a video game system in the living room?”

“Mom hates them,” Phil supplied. “Meg and Dar both have them, so if the twins get a hankering for gaming, they go visit their cousins.”

“Another movie?” Catriona suggested.

Natasha groaned. “No. I’ve about hit my film limit.”

They were still tossing ideas around – and shooting them down faster than Clint could pepper a target with arrows – when Rose walked into the kitchen. She had her easel under one arm, a box of painting supplies under the other. “What are you guys arguing about?”

“We weren’t arguing,” Clint protested. “Just… you know… loudly discussing.” She turned an unimpressed gaze on him. “Damn, that look runs in the family.”

Phil reached out to ruffle her hair, an action the girl couldn’t dodge with her arms full. “We were thinking of doing something with the kids, but can’t agree on anything.”

Rose put the box on the kitchen counter and began unfolding the easel, positioning it so that she could see out the back window. “So don’t just pick one thing. Like, all the cousins have projects to work on – Grandma Viola teaches us stuff. Like Lily’s knitting,” she said, completely ignoring her own painting. “She’s been wanting to work on her new loom, too. Cath likes to sew – well, you know that, you got her that mini machine. Tommy is learning how to build models like the car you made Papa, Uncle Phil – except he likes to make soldiers and battle scenes.” She shrugged. “Invite everybody over to craft. We usually do it at Grandma Viola’s, but we can do it here.”

“You,” Natasha told the girl firmly, “are a genius.”

“Yep.” Rose grinned.

Within an hour, Natasha was seated at the kitchen table with her scrapbooking supplies, surrounded by children. Rose and Lily, of course, as well as Darla’s two oldest Tommy and Emily, and Megan’s eldest three – Catherine, Joey, and Maddy. 

Phil was bent over a diorama of a Revolutionary War battle with Tommy and Joey, animatedly debating the merits of different types of modeling glue, and the best way to apply it. Any time he caught his spouses looking at him, he grinned with sheepish delight. Until recently, they’d had no idea he enjoyed miniatures and modeling, but his plan to make a replica Lola had revealed years of expertise building tiny, perfect objects. Natasha wondered if he’d outfit a dollhouse, someday.

Clint was on the floor with Emily, showing her his new woodworking tools and flipping through the books. She’d eagerly told him that her daddy had let her help him in his woodshop – she liked sanding the best, but painting was good too. Thom, they were surprised to learn, spent a great deal of his free time making toys that would be donated to various shelters – and each of his five children found a way to contribute. Clint’s respect for the former Marine rose several more notches at that – not only was he practicing kindness, he was instilling it in his children.

Rose sat on one side of Natasha, with Lily on her other. Beyond Lily sat Catherine, who had laid out hand-cut paper patterns and a stack of fabric remnants. But for the size, it could have been a scene from a seamstress’s shop – it was obvious that even at ten, Catherine was talented. Lily offered suggestions and a second pair of hands, but her attention was primarily on the lap loom the triad had given her. She’d laid out a simple stripe pattern and was whisking the shuttle back and forth with all the aplomb of a skilled weaver.

Catriona sat across from them with a ball of yarn and crochet hook borrowed from Diane. Without a pattern – and without, it appeared, any real attention paid to the project – she was crocheting a basket to replace the cardboard box Rose stored her painting supplies in. Madeline sat beside her with her own crochet hook and yarn, though she was working on a blanket for her doll.

“Are any of you bad at this stuff?” Natasha asked in exasperation after she’d had to scrap a third page – and she didn’t want to think about how many pages she’d scrapped working on Catriona’s book. Clint’s head came up, his eyes narrowing on his wife. There was more emotion behind her words, but she was steadfastly refusing him entrance into her mind.

“I like to make stuff,” Lily said serenely. She leaned closer to her aunt, sparing one hand from her weaving to wrap it around Natasha’s arm. “And we’ve had a really good teacher.”

Rose’s eyes darted to her aunt as well. She didn’t ask if Natasha was okay – she hated it when people did that to her, so she tried not to do it to others. “I’m really bad at sewing,” she confessed instead. “Like, Cath’s ten times better than I am.”

“And I can’t cook,” Lily added cheerfully. “Momma says it’s Mom’s fault – that if any of Grandma’s grandchildren were gonna be duds in the kitchen, it would be one of Mom’s.”

Natasha sighed. She knew the twins were trying to be supportive, but right now she just felt like a failure.

“The scrapbook you made me is quite lovely, deirfiur,” Catriona said quietly. “And I will treasure it greatly. Having created such a touching gift, perhaps you are reluctant to begin another project in the same craft immediately.” She gestured with her yarn and hook. “I often change crafts when I have completed something – to go immediately back to the beginning in the same discipline is unsatisfying.”

“I don’t have any other disciplines to switch to,” Natasha admitted. She wanted to glower or grind her teeth – it had taken her years to pick up as single hobby, and these people had more than one! And excelled at them! Lily could both crochet and knit, which completely baffled Natasha. How could you go from using a single crooked stick to using two straight ones and keep anything right in your head?

Lily pursed her lips. “Have you asked Great Mother for suggestions?” She hesitated slightly on the Goddess’s name, not sure what was appropriate anymore. Rose leaned around Natasha to fix her twin with a sharp look, but Lily ignored her. “It was Her idea to have fun lessons… maybe She has an idea for crafting lessons.”

Natasha nodded slowly. “Good idea.” She pushed back her chair and wandered back outside, ignoring the eyes of her husbands and Catriona.

“What is she really upset about?” Catriona asked Phil the moment the door shut behind Natasha. 

His eyes circled the room and the children present. “We sit here crafting, in the midst of creations, and she cannot create one.” he said cryptically.

Rose’s eyes narrowed on her uncle. Without explanation, she rose and followed Natasha out into the cold.

Natasha was sitting cross-legged on the ground, her shoes sitting neatly next to her. She wasn’t shivering, despite the cold – though Rose did, the moment the door shut behind her. She ignored the cold and focused instead on her aunt… her favorite aunt, if she was honest to herself.

It was only moments before Natasha’s eyes opened and landed on Rose. With a sigh, Natasha lifted her hands out of her lap and Rose slid into it. “You know, none of us love you any less just because you don’t have a baby,” Rose said softly. Natasha didn’t answer. “It’s not like we really need more cousins. I mean, I’ve got ten of them already.” She was trying to talk light – that almost joking tone that Uncle Phil used to kind of tease Mom into a better mood, but she didn’t think she’d gotten it quite right. Auntie Nat didn’t looked like she was in a better mood. She looked like she was about to cry.

“I know you love me,” Natasha managed to say. Her arms had come up around the girl automatically. “I just… sometimes I’m not sure I love myself.”

“I bet Uncle Phil and Uncle Clint love you enough to make up for it,” Rose said thoughtfully. “And Aunt Catriona. And your Goddess. And Lily… and me.” She reached up to very carefully brush a tear off Natasha’s cheek. “What’s different today?” Something was – where she’d always seen a smooth, even wall around Natasha, there were cracks now. Some of those cracks looked old – even though Rose had never noticed them – but one or two looked new. “Did somebody say something mean?”

“No.” Natasha wasn’t sure how to put this feeling into words. “I just… feel so…”

Her phone rang.

She pulled it out of her pocket and looked down at the display. “I should answer this,” she said apologetically to the girl. Rose nodded but made no move to get up. Natasha decided to let it go, and answered the phone. “Lance? Everything okay?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Lance drawled. “I was about to ask you that. I was just sitting here in my PJs, and then the damned phone was in my hand and your contact was up before I could pause Magnum, PI.”

Natasha was floored. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was amusement in his tone now. “CJ told me he got a weird need to call Clint the other day, and I get it now. So – what’s going on there? Do I need to get dressed and hop in the car? Jump a train?”

“No.” Natasha was still stunned, but the more Lance spoke, the more she relaxed. “I was just…”

“She was freaking out,” Rose said calmly into the phone, tilting her head to be sure the words were audible. “We were crafting, and she started to freak out about not being good enough, and my sister suggested she come outside to talk to the Goddess alone.”

“Nat? Who is that?”

“My niece, Rose. One of the flower twins,” she added.

Lance made a noise of assent. “Hand her the phone, please.”

Natasha did so, unsure where exactly she’d lost control of the conversation.

Rose stood and walked a few steps away. “Hi. I’m Rose. I guess you’re Lance, except Uncle Clint calls you Lancelot most of the time.”

“That’s me,” Lance agreed cheerfully. “They also call me Lancelock. Know why?”

She hummed. “You’re smart like Sherlock?”

“You betcha. Can I ask a couple of questions? Yes or no, because I don’t want Nat to hear, okay?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Is she hurt? Are any of them hurt?”

“No.”

Lance let out a breath. “Okay. Good. They have a fight?”

“Not that I know of.”

“She talked to any of the other Scoobies? I know that CJ talked to Clint, and Maria and Misty both talked to Phil – has anyone called her direct?”

Rose paused. “I don’t think so.”

He made another noise that she couldn’t interpret. “Okay. Give the phone back, would you? And Rose – thanks.” When the phone was back in Natasha’s control, Lance cleared his throat. “When was the last time you talked to another clan member one-on-one? Not your husbands, and not Catriona?”

Natasha had to think. “When Phil and I talked to Maria. So… Thursday? I think? Why?”

“I think you’re in Scooby withdrawal.” She scoffed. “Don’t make me call your husbands.”

“It’s a ridiculous idea, Lance.”

“It isn’t.” His tone was absolute, and she scowled at the phone. “And don’t give me that look, Nat. Or that one either,” he continued, when she stared instead. “I don’t have to see you to know you’ve got your best glare on. Look, when was the last time you were away from all of the Scoobies?”

She ran the past year back in her mind. “When I was under at Stark Industries.”

“And you didn’t feel a little weird then? You do realize that we talk to each other, right? I know you damned near collapsed on CJ when you got out of the chopper in Virginia, and you didn’t even think he liked you then. So believe me when I say you were not at your best.”

“I’d been under stress – ”

“Yeah, you had. And within what, thirty-six hours, you were curled up in a fetal position between Misty and Sam in a hotel room. You don’t think maybe there’s a connection?”

“Lance, this is ridiculous.”

He growled, and Natasha nearly dropped the phone in surprise. Lance was the most easy-going of the Scoobies. She’d never heard him sound so angry. “Natasha Alianovna Romanoff,” he snapped – and the fact that he knew her middle name shocked her into silence. “Do you remember my Gaelic name?”

“Only that it sounds like crayon taco,” she admitted softly.

“It’s crann taca an teaglach – anchor of the clan. It’s literally my position in the clan to keep the rest of you anchored to reality. So when one of you starts to drift – ”

“I’m fine – ” Natasha protested weakly.

“Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” 

Her eyes widened. “Yes, sir.” There didn’t seem to be any other response.

“When one of you starts to drift, it’s my job – my duty – to grab you and get you back on track. Okay? And I don’t know how I know what it is you need, but I do.” He took a deep breath. “I know you don’t believe me, so I want you to hand the phone back to your niece, and then ask the Goddess. Will you do that for me, matrarc?”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated, in a small voice. She handed the phone back to Rose, closed her eyes, and reached for Gaia. {Mother?}

\\\I am here, m’inion.// She felt the Goddess’s touch deepen – almost as intense as the communion she’d felt in the Sacred Grove, and certainly more than she’d expected here. \\\Oh, my daughter. You are in quite a state.//

Natasha heard the door to the kitchen open and close – Rose going back inside. She allowed herself to slump forward, letting her misery be reflected in her posture. {Is Lance right? Am I… do I need the Scoobies? Am I that dependent on them?}

Somehow she could feel both the Goddess’s agreement – and sadness. \\\You do need your clan, m’inion. Crann taca is correct, though I doubt very much that he understands the reasons. Nor,// She added with a wry humor, \\\do I believe he intended to be so brash with you. My dear daughter, you have frightened him. He reacted overmuch.//

Natasha couldn’t really fault him for that – she tended to overreact when she was scared, too. {What’s wrong with me? Why would I need the Scoobies?}

\\\I will tell you what circumstances cause you distress – and reiterate that you are not broken, m’inion.// That point was reinforced with an increased volume that left Natasha’s mind ringing. \\\You require regular interaction with your fledglings, my child, because you are their matrarc - matriarch.// She paused. \\\Do not attempt to deflect that title, M’inion Nat. As the wife and achroi ghra of Taoiseach Treorai Phil, you are their matriarch regardless of whether you have borne a child.// 

But that was the sticking point, wasn’t it? Natasha felt her head shaking, denial choking her throat. She couldn’t even put her objections into clear thoughts to send to the Goddess.

The back door opened again, and Natasha opened her eyes.

~ * ~

“Why did Auntie Nat call you sir?” Rose hissed into the phone the instant Natasha handed it to her.

“Because I talked like a sir, and she didn’t know what else to call me.” Lance’s voice was quieter now, tired. “Would you take the phone in to Phil for me, Rose? I know you don’t want to leave her, but she’s safe with the Goddess.”

Rose debated a moment, but pushed open the door to the kitchen. She marched over to Uncle Phil – he was still talking models with Tommy and Joey, though with concerned eyes flicking towards where Natasha had left – and thrust the phone at him. “Lance wants to talk to you.”

Phil took it in surprise. “Lance?”

He heard the other man let out a breath. “I think for the purposes of this conversation, it’s more crann taca an teaglach asking to speak to his taoiseach, treorai.”

“Ah. Very well.” Phil sat up and gestured for Clint, who joined him immediately. “What is it?”

“You need to either take Natasha home to DC, or invite me and Angie to come by Wisconsin on our way home from Minnesota.” He sounded apologetic, but firm. “Nat’s going to argue that she doesn’t need it – hell, she’s probably arguing with the Goddess right now – but she needs one of us. One of the Scoobies.”

Understanding dawned in Clint’s eyes as he pressed his ear close to Phil’s, so that they both heard Lance. “That makes so much sense. She’s not really arguing with the Goddess, though, just… not believing.”

“Don’t let her win. It’s important, chief.” Lance sighed. “And I don’t know how the hell I know that. I don’t know how I knew to call, or what she needed, or… is this ever going to not surprise us?”

Phil chuckled. “Probably not.”

“We’ll talk to Nat, figure out which of those options is better,” Clint promised. “Call you back in, what, an hour?”

“Likely,” Phil agreed. “If she chooses the latter option, is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Nah. My family’s cool. In fact, whether we’re headed to you or to DC, Angie and I will be on the road tonight,” Lance promised. “I don’t know if she needs just one Scooby or all of us, but… hell, I want to be there for her, chief.”

“I know you do. Thank you.” Phil infused his tone with genuine gratitude, smiling when he heard the pleased noise Lance made in response. “We’ll let you know.”

He hung up the phone and reached for Clint’s hand. Together, they stepped out the back door to speak to their wife.

~ * ~


	40. Chapter 40

Natasha looked up at them from her cross-legged position on the ground, looking utterly exhausted. Phil didn’t speak, just sank onto the ground next to her and slid his arms around her. Clint took her other side. “Tell us what to do,” Phil murmured to her. “What do you need?”

“Apparently I need Scooby cuddles,” Natasha sighed.

“I know.” Phil smoothed the hair back from her face. “Lance told us. I meant more specifically. He and Angie can come here – they are about five hours away, in St. Paul. We can all fly home whenever… or we can head home now. The Stark jet could have us home in two hours.”

Clint rested his chin on Natasha’s shoulder. “She’s trying to decide what’s least inconvenient for everyone.” She shot him a look. “Well, you are.”

“Lance and Angie drove to St. Paul,” Phil offered. “It’s a seventeen hour drive, give or take, for them to get home – we could cut down on their travel time if we flew them home with us.”

“What about their car?” Natasha managed to ask.

“Rented,” Clint supplied, after a quick text exchange with Lance. “Neither of them own one, and they had this insane idea that a road trip would be fun.” At Natasha’s snort, he tilted the phone screen to show her the messages. “Does seventeen hours in a car with Angie sound like fun?”

Natasha snorted again, but this time there was some amusement in it. “Only if she’s had some pink frothy whatever.” Clint laughed, but Phil looked puzzled. “Drink thing that Maria brought to the slumber party. Tipsy Angie is fun.” She sighed. “Is them coming here going to bother your family?”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Mom would be happy if we brought all nine of them here with us. Although, there’d have to be some double-occupancy to fit them all,” he mused. “Only the eight suites… we’ve got one, Catriona’s got one…”

“I vote we make Misty room with Catriona.” Clint grinned.

Natasha elbowed him. “No. Misty’s the only one we could convince Maria to share with.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not bringing them all here now. Lance and Angie, yes.” She sighed. “Then I suppose we should head home.”

“How far from home are Sam and CJ?” Clint asked Phil.

“Boston,” Phil supplied. “Say, hour and a half by plane, seven hours by car? I don’t remember how they traveled, do you?” Clint shook his head. “Why does it matter?”

“No point leaving here and getting home before they do,” Clint explained. “Not if they’d be the only ones not there. This feels like we should all be together, doesn’t it?”

“How are you both so calm about this?” Natasha asked finally. “I’m so screwed up that I need our fucking trainees around—”

Clint interrupted with “You’re not screwed up” at the same moment Phil protested “They aren’t just our trainees.”

Natasha growled. “You know what I mean! This is your family, Phil!”

He ignored her indignant expression and turned her face to his, kissing her gently. “You’re my family too, love. Your needs come first.”

Like a puppet without strings, she sagged between them. “Alright. I want Lance and Angie to come here. Find out when Sam and CJ can get home, and we’ll meet them there. I want – I need us all in one place.” She whispered that, wanting to duck her head. “Would you… explain to your family, please loverling? We’ve only been here five days, and…”

“But you’ve been away from the clan for ten, love,” he reminded her gently. “Of course I’ll speak to them. I’d much prefer we do it indoors, though,” Phil teased. “Some of us don’t have Goddess gifts against the cold.”

It made her chuckle, just a little. “Yeah. You go on in,” she told Phil. “I’m… just going to sit here awhile longer.” Clint nodded to Phil, indicating he’d stay with her. Phil kissed her one final time before rising and walking back into the kitchen.

~ * ~

He was unsurprised to find a change in occupants. His parents, Sarah, and Iris were seated at the table now, with nearly identical expressions of concern. The children were still occupied in their various projects, but bags and boxes had been drawn close in anticipation of being sent home.

Phil turned to the kitchen to make tea, and found Catriona handing him an already brewed cup. “She’ll be alright,” he reassured them all immediately. His eyes were on Catriona as he spoke. “It’s a clan thing.”

“Mother said as much.” Catriona picked up the pot of tea she’d brewed beside Phil’s mug, and brought it to the table. She poured out cups for each of the adults.

Phil sat down next to his mother and sipped his tea. As he’d guessed, it was Catriona’s headache blend – and he needed it. “Mom, I’d like to invite another pair of guests. Two of our Scoobies – Lance and Angie. They’re about five, six hours away… and I’d like them here as soon as they can.”

Diane laid a hand on Phil’s arm. “Whatever you need, son.”

“It’s not a question of what I need.” He met Catriona’s eyes as she sat across from him. “It’s been ten days since we left DC, and Natasha is…” And how the hell did he describe it? She’s in family withdrawals? That wasn’t fair to his parents, siblings or nieces and nephews.

“Much as you are the matriarch here, Mistress Coulson,” Catriona supplied smoothly, “Natasha is, for our clan. Like the aspects of Phil’s leadership which you have seen, there are elements to Natasha’s position which are… complicated. To put it simply, she has need of our younger members. Mother called them fledglings,” she added with a small smile. “I did not foresee her having difficulties with a prolonged absence – but then, very little about our clanship has been predictable.”

Alex looked between them – both looking apologetic. “You’ll be planning to head back to DC then, pretty quick?”

“Yes,” Phil sighed. “I’m sorry. We wanted to stay the rest of the week – until New Year’s, or so, but – ”

Lily rose from where she’d been sitting with the boys and crossed to her uncle. “You don’t have to apologize for it, Uncle Phil. If she were sick, you’d go home, right?” He nodded as she wrapped her arm around his neck. “She’s heartsick. Take her home.”

Sarah blinked at her daughter. “Lily, this isn’t a conversation for – ”

At the first sound of maternal disapproval, Rose abandoned her own project to stand beside her twin. “It is so,” she refuted mulishly. 

“Be nice,” Catriona chided. Rose shot her an outraged look, but Lily dropped her eyes in submission. “It is good of you to wish to comfort your uncle, Lily – and good of you, Rose, to wish to defend your sister. I believe, though, that as the eldest of the children, your talents are best spent on your cousins.” Her eyes flashed to Maddy, whose lip was trembling.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lily acceded immediately.

Rose was more reluctant, shooting a glare at her mothers that had Catriona clearing her throat. “Sorry, Mom, Momma,” she murmured before returning to her cousins.

Sarah stared at Catriona, despite Iris’s whispering in her ear.

“Did you expect me to lead them astray?” Catriona asked. It was delivered calmly enough, but with a bite to her words. 

Diane cleared her throat, startling the druid and her daughter. “That’s a conversation for another time.” She drained her mug and stood. “Will your friends be needing one room or two, Phil?”

“Two,” Phil answered automatically. “But I don’t know how long they’re staying – we’re still working on logistics.”

“Even if they just need a place to stow a bag and grab a cat-nap, I’d like to be prepared.” She laid a comforting hand on Phil’s shoulder before exiting the kitchen.

Phil sighed. “I need to make a few calls. I’m sorry, kids – it looks like our fun date has been cancelled.”

“We’ll help everyone get home,” Lily promised. She didn’t like the sad tint to Uncle Phil, but it didn’t look like something she could fix.

He smiled at her. “I know you will.” He rose too, placing his empty tea mug in the sink.

Catriona stepped up behind him, her arm going around his waist. “Let us arrange the clan gathering then, treorai,” she murmured. He nodded, and they walked upstairs together, to make the calls in private.

~ * ~


	41. Chapter 41

Catriona waited until Phil seated himself on the edge of the bed in the Blue Room before she spoke again. “Would you prefer that I stay with you, or join your spouses?”

He looked up at her as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

She nodded. “I shall stay, then.” She curled up on the bed next to him, her back a warm pressure against his thigh.

Phil relaxed into the contact, glad that he hadn’t sent her away. He rested one hand on her as he dialed Maria’s cell phone.

“Hey, sensei,” Misty greeted him when the call connected. “What’s up?”

Phil pulled the phone away from his ear to check, but – no, he’d dialed Maria. “Grasshopper?”

“That’s me,” she chirped. “You need Ria? She’s elbow deep in soap suds at the moment, but I can put you on speaker.”

“That might be best.” He waited until the echoing tone confirmed that she’d done so. “It appears we’ll be heading home sooner, rather than later. I expect it’ll be early tomorrow, and we’ll be back at the dojo – and I’d like to have everyone there.”

“What happened?” Maria demanded. There was a splash, followed by a muffled curse. “Is everyone okay?”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have a headache anymore, thanks to Catriona’s tea, but it was a comforting gesture. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but Nat’s in some kind of psychic withdrawal because she needs regular Scooby contact… and apparently, group phone calls are insufficient.”

“You’re telling me you’re cutting your vacation short by almost a week because Nat needs a hug?” Maria asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

Misty broke the silence before it could stretch into discomfort. “I’ll head over to the dojo tonight and set up the camp mattresses, stock the fridge.” The triad had given her a key months ago, as part of Phil’s insistence that at least one other member of the clan have access to each living space… just in case. 

Phil stomped on his immediate reaction – his effusive gratitude would only make Misty uncomfortable. “Thank you.” He paused. “We’ll also need to arrange transportation home from the airstrip for Lance and Angie – we won’t all fit in Lola for the drive home. I don’t know yet whether Sam and CJ will be driving or flying, but we’ll need to coordinate that as well.”

“This is serious, isn’t it?” Maria asked quietly. “You’re recalling everybody.”

“Yes.” He didn’t see any point in denying it – it was serious. The moment Rose had handed him Natasha’s phone, he’d known that.

“We’ll handle the dojo,” Misty reiterated firmly. “You just let me know when and where you need pickups, and we’ll get everyone home and together. In the meantime, tell nascha we love her.”

“Will do.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you, grasshopper.”

“You betcha.”

He held the now-silent phone in his hand a moment before making his next call. Catriona stirred next to him, turning until she could pillow her head on his thigh. “Did you doubt their acceptance, treorai?”

“No. Not really.” He laughed a little. “I think I’m just rattled that Misty answered Maria’s phone.”

“Are they not… together?”

Phil ran his hands through her curls. “Not yet. I expect it’s only a matter of time.” When she remained silent, he lifted the phone and put the call to Sam through.

“Adams.”

“How much of an imposition would it be, for you and CJ to head back to DC immediately?”

There was a long pause, and he could hear other people in the background. “Not at all, sir. Agent Forrester and I can be back at headquarters in under three hours. Will that suffice, sir?”

“Not alone, I take it?” he asked drily.

“No, sir.”

He chuckled slightly. “And you’re not in the slightest bit upset to have an excuse to leave, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“At ease, Sam,” he teased gently. “You don’t need to leave immediately. It’ll be at least eight hours before we touch down in DC – and I’d rather give Lance and Angie a chance to grab some shut eye here before we take off.” He looked at the clock. “If Lance can get on the road in the next hour, they should be here by midnight – if we left at eight tomorrow morning, we should be home by ten. Does that work for you?”

“We will meet you at headquarters at 2100 hours, sir,” she replied.

“Text Misty when you know what flight you’re on, and she’ll get you home.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry that you’re so eager to get away from your family, but I’m glad that I can give you an excuse to leave.”

“Thank you, sir. Adams out.”

Phil lowered the phone again. “Did you bring your cell? Would you text CJ and give him a better update?”

Catriona slid her phone out of a pocket. “Of course.” She began composing text messages with a speed and fluidity that should have surprised him.

He dialed Lance finally. “Can you head to Manitowoc now?” Phil asked when Lance picked up.

“Already packed the car,” Lance informed him. “Angie’s saying her goodbyes to the kids, and all I’ve got left to do is gather the leftovers Mom will insist we take, and kiss Grandma’s cheek.”

More gratitude rose up in him, but with Lance he didn’t have to stifle it. “You’re a gem, Lance. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“Oh, I’m easy,” Lance deflected with an audible grin. “A home-cooked meal and some pie, and we’ll call it good.” 

~ * ~

“So… at what point are you going to give up on being embarrassed and come inside?” Sarah asked Natasha from the back door. Clint glared at her with more heat than she’d expected. “Come on, it’s not like we’re going to judge, Nat.” She approached the pair on the ground slowly, almost as though she was afraid of spooking them. She had two coffee mugs looped through her fingers, and a thermos in the other hand. She thrust the items at Clint. “If you’re going to sit out here in the snow, at least take some coffee.”

“Taking a leaf out of your mom’s book?” he asked lightly as he took the items.

Sarah shrugged. “It works.”

Natasha took the cup that Clint poured her. “It’s just… a little easier out here, with Gaia.”

Sarah’s face softened. Natasha hadn’t realized how carefully controlled Sarah was until she relaxed. “You want us to bundle up and join you? I know we’re not your Scoobies, but twin cuddles are pretty magical, and Iris is a force of nature.”

It shouldn’t still surprise her, this instant support from the various Coulsons, but it did. She had to take a swallow of coffee to work through the lump in her throat. “No. I’ll head in soon. Even I’m starting to feel the cold.”

“Movie night?” Sarah suggested. “Cuddles and distraction, until your Scoobies arrive?”

As tired as she was of films, Natasha couldn’t think of a better way to kill time until Lance and Angie arrived. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

~ * ~


	42. Chapter 42

By the time Natasha made her way back into the house, the twins had resurrected the cuddle pile in front of the couch. She darted upstairs to change into dry clothes – her fluffy Captain America pajamas, because she wanted to make Phil smile – and took her place on the mattress with her husbands on one side and the twins on the other. Iris had chosen the first Indiana Jones movie and Sarah had chosen the second, prompting the twins to name the third and fourth, making it a solid marathon. 

She was half-drowsing between Phil and Lily, listening more to the soundtrack than the dialogue, when a particular sound caught her attention, causing her to go rigid and her breath to catch.

Whips. Indy used a bull whip. The crack of air displacement broke through her contentment just as it had when Whiplash had battled Iron Man in Monaco.

“Auntie Nat?” Lily twisted on the mattress, turning to look at Natasha. “Grandma, pause the movie.”

Natasha sat up and leaned forward, her forehead on her knees. Clint wormed his way around bodies until he could sit behind her, and Phil leaned into her side. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’d forgotten he used a whip.”

Catriona laid a hand on Natasha’s cheek. “You need not apologize, deirfiur.”

“What she said,” Clint agreed, snugging up close to Natasha until she was sitting between his legs, her back against his chest. “I didn’t think of it either, and I’ve seen these movies like a thousand times.”

“I’ll put something else on,” Diane promised, but Natasha shook her head.

“No.” She leaned back into Clint, one hand wrapped in Phil’s and the other in Catriona’s. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Two restricted words in as many seconds says otherwise, love.”

“Turn the movie back on, Diane, please,” Natasha said as calmly as she could.

“But—”

Natasha scowled at Phil. “I’m not going to let my issues ruin this for everyone else.”

Lily sized up the situation and acted before anyone could stop her. She pulled on Natasha’s ankles until her legs unfolded and promptly crawled into her aunt’s lap. “You want to learn how not to let it bug you, right?” Natasha nodded. “Then put the movie back on, Grandma, and we’ll make sure Auntie Nat feels safe, even though there’s a scary noise. Right?” She turned her eyes to Phil, her expression so like Iris that he had to laugh.

“Alright,” he conceded. “If you’re sure, love.” Natasha nodded again. Phil tucked himself in closer. “It’s like pollen therapy for allergies,” he mused. “Tiny, safe doses to build up a tolerance.”

Clint grinned. “Or iocaine powder.”

Rose snorted. “If you start talking about twu wuv next, I’m going to bed.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Am I supposed to understand that?”

“Oh, my dear sweet summer child,” Sarah murmured. “Mom, I’ve changed my mind. Princess Bride is my pick for next.”

Diane laughed and turned the movie back on, one eye on Natasha. She didn’t like that Natasha was insisting on watching something that disturbed her – liked even less that she could now envision her daughter-in-law as the recipient of lashes.

{You don’t have to do this, Nat,} Clint reminded her… although it sounded more like a plea. {No one is going to mind if we change movies.}

{I’d mind.} She tightened her arms around Lily, who turned her face into Natasha’s neck and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. Natasha felt her own breathing slow to match the girl’s. {I wonder how much of this is Lily’s gift, and how much is being Iris’s daughter?}

Clint smoothed Natasha’s hair unnecessarily, smiling at the sight of his wife covered in a blanket of nieces. {Part Gift, part Iris, part Coulson-magic.} He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t start with that,” Rose grumbled. Lily giggled.

~ * ~

Lance pulled their rented sedan into the driveway of the Rainbow Inn with an exhausted groan. “Ang.” He leaned over and poked Angie, who’d dozed off in the passenger seat. “Come on. We’re here.” 

Angie yawned. “Right.”

He chivvied her out of the car and up the steps. The front door opened before he could knock. “Half of them are asleep in the living room, I didn’t want you to wake them,” the woman said. “I’m Diane – Phil’s mom.”

“Hi.” Lance blinked, remembered his manners and offered his hand. “Lance Mackey.” She ignored the hand and hugged him instead.

“Angie Edwards.” She was treated to a hug as well.

Lance shook his head, a little dazed. He’d expected more stoicism, somehow. Even at home, Phil was more restrained. “Sorry. Long drive.”

“Of course. I know it’s late,” Diane said as she led them inside. “Do you want coffee? Tea? I can put together a snack.”

“I’m good,” Angie answered vaguely – not paying the slightest bit of attention to Diane anymore, as they’d come to the doorway of the living room.

Phil and Clint were both awake, and turned their heads towards the new arrivals… but Natasha was asleep, almost hidden beneath two blonde girls. One braided head was tucked into her neck, and the other against Natasha’s left thigh. Phil had Natasha’s right tucked against him, with Clint draped over him. Beyond the blonde girls, Catriona’s red curls spilled onto the mattress. 

It was adorable.

Angie snapped a picture before shedding her shoes and crawling on to the mattress, squeezing in between Phil’s legs and Natasha’s, so that she could wrap an arm around Natasha’s calves. The deadly assassin made a soft noise akin to a purr and settled deeper into the mattress. Angie squirmed until she was comfortable and closed her eyes.

Lance crossed his arms, eyes twinkling. “And where am I supposed to fit? Natasha’s only got so much real estate.”

Phil chuckled softly. “You can go upstairs, sleep in a real bed.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Clint had to stifle his laughter. “You earned that one, Moonbeam.”

Lance’s eyebrows jumped. “Forbidden nickname?”

“Downgraded from forbidden to private,” Phil informed him with a soft smile. He shifted downwards on the mattress, freeing up some space between them and the front of the couch. “Feel like squeezing in there?”

“Long as no one’s going to get weird about me being on the bed with your nieces, sure.” Lance kicked off his own shoes and stepped carefully over Clint, easing himself down onto the mattress. With his back against the front of the couch, it was pretty cozy. He tucked one hand under his head, and used the other to wrap around Natasha’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how much physical contact she needed, but there wasn’t much else he could reach at the moment.

Phil turned his head until he could meet Lance’s eyes. “Their mothers trust me, and I trust you.”

“Ah, hell. I didn’t mean it like that.” At Phil’s raised eyebrow, he sighed. “Look, my family’s close and all, but this is… a step above that. My mom would throw a fit if she knew there were kids in the bed with adults not their parents, okay?”

“It’s a therapeutic cuddle session,” Clint said drowsily. He lifted his head to wink at Lance before nuzzling back into Phil’s chest. “And nobody cuddles like a Coulson.”

“You guys are disgustingly married.” Lance wriggled a little. “How’s she doing, chief? For real?”

Phil yawned, muffling it in Clint’s hair. “She’d be better if she hadn’t insisted on watching Raiders of the Lost Ark through to the end.” Lance made a small questioning noise. “Indy uses a whip, which is one of her triggers, and none of us thought of that before we started the movie.”

“And she’s too damned stubborn to let us change it,” Clint grunted into Phil’s chest. 

Somehow that didn’t surprise Lance.

“I’m better,” Natasha murmured. “Princess Bride helped.” Her voice was thick with sleep, but the look she flashed up at Lance was bright. “Glad to see you, crayon taco.”

“Seriously?”

She chuckled. “Clint started it.”

That also didn’t surprise Lance. “How much better?”

“Enough to be able to sleep… not enough to be able to do it upstairs in our room.” 

He was a little surprised at her honesty. “Do we help? Me and Ang?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head to rub her check on the hand he’d tucked onto her shoulder. “I know it’s probably weird for you, but… it helps.”

“Maybe that should be our clan motto,” he said lightly, touched by her affection. “An Teaglach Tofa. It’s probably weird.” The giggle he got in response made him smile even as he drifted off to sleep.

~ * ~


	43. Chapter 43

Catriona woke first, stretching and making her way out of the tangle of limbs and blankets – odd, she didn’t remember blankets being there when she’d fallen asleep – and made for the kitchen.

Diane was awake, with a fresh pot of coffee brewing and the first of several trays of muffins going in. “Sleep well?” There was a great deal of amusement in the look she flashed towards the druid.

“Perhaps surprisingly, yes.” Catriona bypassed the coffee and made for the tea kettle, choosing to let it boil mundanely as she picked through the sachets of tea for one that suited her fancy. “It has been a number of years since I slumbered in the company of so many others – and that was necessity, not choice.”

“Dare I ask?”

Catriona looked at Diane’s careful expression and laughed. “It was a rooming house – I was forced to take shelter whilst traveling, and bedded down in the common room. It was not unusual, in that time and place.” 

Diane sighed. “Thanks goodness. There’s enough trauma in this group.”

“If it inconveniences you, Mistress Coulson, we – and our traumas – need not return.”

“That’s not – ” Diane looked up to meet Catriona’s flinty gaze. “Alright, dial back the mad. I didn’t mean it like that, Catriona.” The druid continued to watch her, lips pressed together until they were barely visible. “Christ, you look like my Grandma Myrtle when you do that. Please don’t.” Catriona remained silent. “Now I know how Phil feels, when I interrogate him.”

“Like I’m a bug on a card,” Phil supplied, stepping into the kitchen. He moved to pour himself a cup of coffee before it really registered that Catriona was glaring at his mother. “Deirfiur?”

Diane groaned as she pulled a pan of muffins out of the oven. “I said something foolish and insensitive, and she’s been giving me the Myrtle look ever since.”

Phil examined Catriona’s face more closely and shuddered. “Ouch. Yes, that’s a Myrtle face.” He offered Catriona a hand. “What did she say?”

Catriona let herself be pulled into his side. “It bears no repeating.”

“Damn, Mom, you pissed her into formality.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Diane sighed. “I didn’t mean that I found your traumas – any of your traumas – unwelcome or a burden, Catriona. I meant that I regretted they were so numerous. I don’t like knowing how often – and how many – traumas have been inflicted on my family. That’s all.” She offered her hands to the druid, who took them reluctantly. 

“Perhaps I am overly sensitive,” Catriona admitted grudgingly.

Phil squeezed her around the waist. “I think we all are, right now.” He kissed her forehead.

“Coffee, Phil?” Diane offered when she’d slid her hands from Catriona’s. 

“Always,” he agreed with a smile. He took the mug she poured gratefully. “You might as well put another pot on – the scent of your muffins is likely to draw Clint out shortly.”

“Did,” Clint agreed from the doorway and yawned. “Coffee and carbs. Good start to the day.” He reached eagerly for the cup Diane poured him and downed half of it before seizing Phil for a fast, hard kiss. “You’re better than coffee.”

Phil chuckled into the kiss. “That’s quite a compliment, from you.”

“Now, boys,” Diane chided, when the kiss turned into two, and looked like it might continue.

Clint pulled away reluctantly. “Sorry, Moonbeam. Mama Diane has spoken.” He stilled, eyes darting to Diane.

She didn’t approach him – not as tense as he was now. “That’s a fine thing to call me, Clint.” His posture relaxed slightly. “You can call me whatever you want. Except,” she added with a shudder, “Mummy.”

Relief made laughter spill out unheeded. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Clint grinned when he’d regained control.

“Why don’t you three take these – ” Diane thrust a stack of plates at Clint, and a basket of muffins at Catriona, “ – and some coffee in to the living room, and wake up your clan. I know you want to get in the air early, and there’s still the drive to the airport.”

“Right.” Phil retrieved the coffee carafe from the counter and threaded his fingers through the handles of several mugs.

The twins were stirring – and sometime in the night, they’d traded places. Lily was drowsing next to where Catriona had lain, and Rose was draped over Natasha. “You gonna introduce us to your Scooby friends?” Rose asked, when Phil rested the coffee on the floor and folded himself back down onto the mattress.

He glanced at Lance – still asleep – and then at Angie, who blinked drowsily at him. “Ang, you awake enough to be interrogated by my nieces?”

“Is that coffee?”

“If my answer is yes, is yours?” Phil flashed her a grin, which she returned as she hauled herself into a sitting position. 

“Okay. Coffee me, and then I’m all yours.” Angie accepted the mug Phil poured her as Catriona and Clint settled back into the warm blankets. “Hi. I’m Angie Edwards. Are you Rose or Lily? Nobody mentioned how to tell you apart.”

Rose regarded her with a look so like one of Phil’s that Angie had to stifle a chuckle. “I’m Rose. I’m right-side dominant – hand, eye, and more freckles. Nobody ever asks how to tell us apart.” Her gaze sharpened on Angie, then flickered above her to where Lance lay asleep. “I thought he was the brainiac.”

“Rose…”

“Nah, it’s okay, sensei,” Angie waved his objection off. “Lance is the brains of the operation, sure, but I’m an analyst – I like data. There’s a reason my Gaelic name means ‘detective,’ after all.” She grinned. “Easiest way to find something out is to ask.”

“You rarely just ask,” Clint grumbled. “You poke, prod, nag, and if no one answers, you hack it.”

Angie’s grin broadened. “Well, yeah. Girl’s got to have fun.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Phil drawled when Rose giggled. “Just you wait, pretty soon she’ll want to know something you don’t think she should, and you’ll have to fend off both a computer attack and puppy-dog eyes.”

“I would never resort to hacking your nieces,” Angie protested with a laugh. “I won’t have to – I’ll trade secrets about their favorite uncle.”

Natasha groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “We’ve created a monster. I should have known letting bleachtaire anywhere near the flower girls was going to end in disaster.” Rose shifted so that Natasha could sit up, though she didn’t move far. “Huh. I went to bed with one niece-blanket, and woke up with another.” She tugged at one of Rose’s braids. “Thanks.”

Rose snuggled back into her aunt as soon as Natasha had accepted a cup of coffee from her husband. “Any time.” She paused. “Except next time we have a slumber party, how about it not be because your shields are cracked, okay?”

“Deal.” Natasha kissed her forehead, an action which made the girl roll her eyes. “I didn’t hear you guys come in last night, Ang.”

“You were zonked out, the pixie and flower girls too.” Angie grinned. “I sent a picture to the clan.”

“Pixie?” Lily repeated, yawning as she sat up. Catriona wrapped an arm around her as she blinked sleepily at Angie.

“Yup.” Angie’s impish grin slid to Catriona. “Petite pretty pixie.” The druid made a face, but didn’t protest the nickname further.

Natasha looked over to Lance, who appeared to still be sleeping soundly. “How is he still out?”

“Having met his family… I’d say defensive evolution of selective hearing,” Angie said with a laugh. “It was the most glorious chaos.”

Phil chuckled. “I’m familiar with the concept. I’ve got three sisters, and between them – seven nieces and five nephews.”

Angie blinked. “Yours is as bad as his!”

“Not bad,” Clint corrected. He’d been silent as he poured coffee into himself – it was always smarter if he didn’t participate in conversations until properly caffeinated – but he couldn’t let that one slide.

Green eyes softened, and Angie leaned over to squeeze Clint’s knee. “Didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.”

He covered her hand with his automatically. “Don’t mind me. Not enough coffee.”

“God – Goddess – forbid,” she teased gently. She picked a muffin out of the basket on the floor and bit into it. Her eyes widened. “Dude. Boss, I didn’t think you’d been up long enough to bake.”

Phil grinned and handed her a plate. “I haven’t. That’s my mom’s doing.”

“Your mom is awesome.”

“I’ve been saying that for a year now,” Clint agreed. He reached for a muffin also – taking the plate Phil handed him with an eye roll. “You should have seen Christmas dinner.”

“Lancelot’s mom isn’t shabby in the kitchen, either.” Angie took another bite of muffin and hummed in pleasure. “Do I taste fresh blueberries?”

Catriona peered at the muffin in her hand. “Yes – there are blackberry and raspberry ones in the basket as well.”

“Raspberry?” Natasha perked up, and Phil passed her a plate and muffin. At Angie’s odd look, Natasha shrugged. “So I like raspberries.”

“Not that. Hell, all of SHIELD knows you like raspberries – you damned near killed Agent Harding when he snuck the last raspberry tart out from under your hand. No, I meant… where the hell did fresh berries come from? In Wisconsin? In December?”

“I didn’t lay a hand on Harding – ” Natasha protested.

Phil cut her off with a sharp look. “You threatened to eviscerate him with a kitchen utensil.”

Clint laughed. “What she said was ‘I will gut you with a rusty spork and strangle you with your own entrails if you ever do that again.’ Which, you’ll have to admit, is a damned creative threat.”

Lance stretched his leg out to kick Clint, landing a solid jab to his buttocks. “Kids present. Watch your language.”

Rose lifted an eyebrow and turned to Lance. “You think we haven’t heard it before?”

He sat up – and he was one of those blessed few who could appear completely awake seconds after opening his eyes – and returned her gaze. “I don’t care if you have or not, you shouldn’t hear it from us.” He leaned over to punch Clint’s shoulder. “And that’s for talking about entrails while people are eating.”

Phil regarded Lance over his coffee mug. He recognized the behavior – how wouldn’t he? He was an older brother, too. Apparently, a few days with his own siblings had kicked Lance’s brotherly instincts into overdrive. If it didn’t bother Clint, he decided, he wasn’t going to call Lance on it. “We generally don’t censor ourselves around the girls,” he said instead. “The other kids – yes. Not the twins.”

“We’re special,” Lily mock-whispered to Lance.

“I don’t care if you’re the reincarnated Dalai Lama, some conversation isn’t meant for small ears.” Lance’s jaw was set, eyes firm on Phil.

Next time someone asks why I pick damaged agents, Phil thought to himself, this is why. Normies have the damndest hang-ups. “Lance.” Phil kept his voice level and calm, despite a rising irritation. “Their mothers are fine with it, and that’s who gets to make that decision. You don’t have to agree, but I would appreciate it if you would respect it.”

Rose looked between Uncle Phil and the Scooby – Lance, she corrected herself – with narrowed eyes. Yesterday, he’d been cool on the phone – a little mean to Auntie Nat, but she’d kind of needed it. Now, he was being stupid about their age. 

Lily, well aware that her sister’s temper was rising, squirmed back from her seat near Catriona to sit next to Lance. She didn’t climb into his lap – he was already weirded out by them, that would probably send him running – but she did make sure her knee brushed against his. 

Lance’s brain told him to put distance between himself and the twelve-year-old niece of his boss. The part of his heart that had known to call Natasha yesterday made him lean towards her instead.

“We aren’t normal,” Lily told him quietly. Her eyes flashed to Rose’s before landing on each of the other adults in turn. “If we were regular kids – regular tweens – yeah, okay. I mean, not everybody has family that work for SHIELD, right? Or used to, like my Papa. But even without SHIELD…” She tilted her head at Lance. “You know Uncle Phil’s got a thing for saving people, right?”

“A bit,” Lance agreed weakly. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost all control of the conversation, but he was almost as intimidated by this little scrap of a child as he was by Catriona.

“It runs in the family,” Lily said with a small smile. “Mom and Momma rescued us from a bad situation when we were little babies. Uncle Derek is a lawyer that works for families in bad situations. Aunt Darla works at a clinic for women in bad situations.” She met his eyes, and hoped he could see that she’d dropped the childishness she wore – stopped pretending. “Just ‘cause I don’t say it doesn’t mean we don’t know what those bad situations are.”

Rose took her sister’s hand. “It’s great that the kids in your life don’t know… haven’t seen the bad stuff,” she added. “Great that they’re innocent. Some of our cousins are like that. We’re not.”

Angie cleared her throat in the silence that followed. “So, you’re telling me that all the Coulsons have the same freaky saving people thing? All of you?”

Lily grinned, and the transformation from serious small adult to impish child was startling. “Yup. Well, the babies might not yet – I mean, Michael’s only three.”

“Yeah, but he did let Auntie Nat win at skating,” Rose argued, her own eyes twinkling. “That’s like, compassion. Right?”

Natasha’s indignant squawk and subsequent pillow attack on her nieces effectively lightened the mood… but Lance would still think of it.

~ * ~


	44. Chapter 44

It took surprisingly little time for the triad, Catriona, Lance and Angie to be ready to leave the Inn. The worst of it was hauling the Christmas gifts out to Diane’s van – she’d claimed maternal prerogative on having an extra hour with them.

Between trips to the van, Phil realized Natasha had slipped away. He found her in the living room, standing next to the Christmas tree, her eyes unfocused in the direction of the window. “Penny for your thoughts, my love?”

She turned to him, automatically sliding into his arms and nestling her head into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry that we need to leave. I love our family here, but…”

“But they aren’t the clan,” Phil finished for her, kissing her forehead. Absently he noted Clint joining them, sliding up behind Natasha until she was wrapped in both of them. “There’s no shame in it, love. It is what it is.”

“I hate that saying,” Clint grumbled. “If we’d been content with what was, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“A very good point.” Phil couldn’t quite reach Clint’s lips around Natasha, but he slid one hand around Clint’s waist, toying with the waistband of his jeans. 

Clint made a soft noise, somewhere between humming and a purr. “We’ll just need to find time to visit more often – short trips, but often.”

“There’s an element to this that you’re missing,” Natasha murmured. “How am I supposed to go on solo missions, if I can’t go ten days without Scooby contact?”

“You shouldn’t be going solo,” Phil answered immediately. “And that’s handler speaking, not husband. I’ve allowed it up to this point because it’s been your preference – Clint or no one. But as good as you are—love, you should never have been under at Stark Industries without backup. You shouldn’t have been asked to monitor Banner without backup, either – and you sure as hell shouldn’t have been asked to do it with no recovery time.” He paused, tightening his arm around her and pulling Clint closer. “I don’t know what kind of game Fury’s pulling, but I’m done letting him put my people at risk – spouses or not.”

“Don’t mistake my question for disagreement, but… what brought that on?” Natasha asked.

Phil kissed her, sliding his thumb along the skin of Clint’s waist. “After you conked out last night, I had a talk with Dad. He’s still got friends at SHIELD, you know… and they’re concerned with the lack of safety measures on some missions, too.”

“So it isn’t just me he’s running ragged,” Natasha murmured. Her attention wasn’t entirely on the conversation – Clint’s warm presence behind her was distracting, almost as much as the skin of Phil’s neck.

Diane cleared her voice from the doorway. The triad separated slowly, though Natasha slipped one hand in each of her husbands’. “We’re ready to load the people, now.”

Catriona found a moment to take Lily aside, and crouched in front of the girl. “You may contact me at any time, tuar ceatha faidh,” the druid told her. “You have my cell number and email address, and if those do not work, please ask Gaia to contact me. You will not inconvenience me, alanna m’chroi,” she added, when she saw reluctance on Lily’s face. “If you have need of me, I am at your service.”

“Will you come visit?” Lily asked.

“As often as I can,” Catriona agreed. “And as often as I am welcome.”

Lily frowned. “Mom and Momma still upset?”

“It has not been long,” Catriona reminded her, smoothing the girl’s hair down. “I expect they will come around.” She didn’t miss Sarah giving her a hard look as she rose to exit the Inn.

Phil ordered them into the van, more of Agent Coulson showing than had in the past few days. Natasha was to sit in the back with a Scooby to either side of her. Clint and Catriona took the middle seats, and Phil climbed into the passenger seat, where he could easily speak to his mother.

“So… wanna tell me why Sarah is ticked off at Catriona?” Diane began, as soon as she’d pulled the van onto the highway.

Clint chuckled from behind her. “You know, sometimes it seems more like you’re the retired SHIELD agent, not Alex.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Phil glanced back at Catriona, who had a lock of her hair in her mouth and was nibbling at it worriedly. Better, he decided, for him to break his promise of silence to Lily than for Catriona to do so. “Lily needs lessons with her Gift, and Sarah and Iris aren’t happy about Catriona informing them that Lily will get them.”

“Informing them, eh?” Diane repeated, meeting Catriona’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“She must be trained,” Catriona murmured. “Her Gift… to leave her unguided would be to court madness, if not death.”

Diane blanched, and Phil shot out a hand to steady the steering wheel. “That kind of phrase shouldn’t be used when the person you’re talking to is driving,” Phil chided Catriona. “She’ll be okay, Mom. Catriona’s a good teacher, and Lily’s a smart girl.”

“What kind of Gift are we talking about?” Diane asked when her heart had stopped racing.

Phil explained, as best he could. He was all too aware that Lance and Angie were in the back seat with Natasha, and he was sure they were hanging on his every word. This wasn’t just interesting gossip, it was details about a Gift that neither of them had been exposed to – and they were both infernally curious.

Natasha put a restraining hand on Lance’s knee when he drew in breath for a question. “Don’t,” she advised. “I know it’s fascinating. And I know you want to know more. But she’s twelve, Lance. And she’s our niece.” She caught his eyes. “If you think Phil’s protective of us, imagine what he’d be like if he thought one of them were in danger.”

“I’m not going to – ” he began hotly, but her fingers squeezed his knee, almost tightly enough to hurt.

“Take off your thinking cap, and put on your family hat. Would you want anyone else to know, if your niece had the kind of power that terrorists would commit genocide to control?”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Angie breathed from Natasha’s other side. She flinched at Diane’s glare in the rearview mirror. “I hadn’t gotten there yet.”

Lance was having trouble merging his image of a sleepy blond girl draped over Catriona and a Gifted individual likely to be hunted by militants. “She knows, doesn’t she? When she said they weren’t normal – she knows this is big. Right?”

“She does,” Phil agreed. “I don’t know how much Rose knows, but Lily is generally a step or two ahead of us. And frankly, I doubt it will be long before Rose starts to show a Gift.”

Natasha bit her lip. “I think she already is.” Every eye – except for Diane’s – flew to her. “She said something about my shields being cracked this morning.”

Catriona tapped her lip. “That has many possibilities, deirfiur. I could not hazard a guess.”

“Not just a turn of phrase?” Angie offered hopefully.

“Do they seem like the kind of girls that say things carelessly?” Phil asked drily.

“What do I need to watch for, Catriona?” Diane asked quietly. “If Lily’s Gift is potentially dangerous, it’s a fair assumption that Rose’s will be, also so – what do I look for?”

The druid sighed. “It is so difficult to say, Mistress Coulson. Primarily… changes in personality, sudden violence… trouble at school, or with her cousins. Becoming excessively withdrawn.”

“So… puberty,” Diane said with a half-smile. “If Rose starts acting out beyond the norm, I’ll get in touch.”

~ * ~

Lance let out a low whistle when he caught sight of the Stark aircraft waiting for them at the landing field. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” he murmured, stepping forward to run his fingers over the sleek lines.

“Men,” Angie muttered, but there was humor in her eyes.

“What did you promise him to get him to lend this out?” Lance asked.

Phil grinned. “A picture of Natasha smiling.”

She shot him an irritated look. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“I thought I’d give him one of you with Rose – it’ll drive him mad, trying to figure out who she is,” Phil continued, his smile broadening. “Infuriating Stark is one of my small pleasures.”

Angie snickered. “I bet he’s pissed I fried his cameras, too.”

Lance’s eyebrows leapt as he hauled luggage onto the plane. “You fried Stark tech?”

“Girl’s gotta have skills,” she grinned at him as she carried her own burden onto the craft.

By the time they were loaded and secured, Natasha was wilting. She’d been fine for most of the morning, but her ears were starting to ring and there was an odd crawling sensation on her scalp – not like the whispering of a Gaia summons, but distinctly unpleasant.

“Why don’t you curl up with Angie, Lance, and Catriona, see if you can catch a nap?” Clint suggested aloud. “Phil can co-pilot. It’s not like it’s a long flight.”

She wanted to resist – the intellectual agent part of her did, anyway.

M’inion Nat was too drained to listen to Agent Romanoff, so she kicked off her shoes and sank into the plush couch in the cabin. Without discussion, Angie settled on one side and Lance on the other. Catriona wormed herself onto Natasha’s lap, as tiny and light as either of the twins. Natasha tilted her head back, resting it on the back of the couch as she listened to Clint begin the pre-flight checks, and Phil contacted air traffic control.

Angie’s hand snuck into hers. “It’s okay, Nat. We got your six,” she murmured.

~ * ~


	45. Chapter 45

Misty waved cheerfully from the SUV parked next to Lola on the tarmac. As soon as the hatch opened, she darted forward to wrap each of them in a hug. “Merry Christmas! Late Christmas. And welcome home.” She gave Natasha an extra hug before turning to Phil. “I’m guessing there’s luggage.”

Phil nodded and gestured, and Misty seized the top bag before making her way back to the SUV. Phil shook his head, grinning fondly. No matter how much time he spent around Misty, it was always a bit of an adjustment from Agent Summers – she had no qualms about treating any of them like family, when she was off-duty. The casual affection she showed was so uninhibited… well, it reminded him of his nieces and nephews.

Natasha shook her head as well, grabbing a bag and heading to Lola. “We’d best load the tools in the SUV,” she called to Misty. “Lola’s only got so much space.”

“You’re the boss,” Misty told her equably, and Natasha paused, mid-step.

“Say that again,” Natasha ordered, looking at the squad leader.

Misty raised an eyebrow as she slung the bag into Lola’s trunk. “You’re the boss?”

There was an odd… warmth… when she heard that, Natasha realized. A little of the fog in her brain lifted. “Yeah.” She turned to Catriona. “This is about me being the matriarch, right?”

“Aye, deirfiur,” Catriona confirmed, then nodded slowly. “Yes, I follow.”

“Well, fill in the rest of us,” Lance grumbled. “I thought she just needed cuddles.”

“I need to take care of you,” Natasha explained. Her expression was clearing as her mind did – yes, this was what she needed. Not to be coddled by her fledglings, as Gaia called them – but to care for them. “Grasshopper, I’m driving home.”

Misty dug the keys to the SUV out of her pocket and tossed them to Natasha. “Yes ma’am.” It could have sounded sarcastic – Misty had a finely-honed tongue – but this she spoke sincerely, and Natasha was grateful. She pocketed the keys and returned to shifting gear from the Stark jet to the two vehicles.

When everything was loaded, Natasha gestured imperiously for Misty to get in the SUV. Lance and Angie piled in as well. Catriona, Clint, and Phil followed behind them in Lola.

The sight of the dojo – Misty’s nickname for the triad’s home, and one that had stuck – deepened Natasha’s sense of rightness. She parked the SUV and, when she’d have begun unloading, was waved into the house by her husbands. “Go, check on the kids,” Phil murmured to her, when they crossed paths in the driveway. “We’ll take volunteers for the unloading – I’m sure Chuck would rather be a stevedore than deal with feelings.”

She kissed his check and didn’t argue – and couldn’t decide if that was because he was right, or because he’d phrased it as an order.

The camp mattresses had been set up in the living room, as Misty had promised, and were covered in a hodge podge of pillows and blankets. The remaining Scoobies were scattered about the room in their pajamas, most with a book in hand. CJ was the first to leap up, and he seized Natasha in a hug that warmed her as much as it startled her. “Glad you’re home,” he murmured. “And even gladder to have an excuse to get out of that nest of vipers that’s Sam’s bio family.”

She grinned and ruffled his hair. “I’m glad my malfunctioning mojo can serve a greater purpose. If a couple of you wouldn’t mind, there’s luggage to be unloaded.”

Chuck rose immediately, tossing her a casual salute as he went to help. Al trailed after him, looking unsure.

“He been like that the whole time?” Natasha asked Raj, jerking her thumb at Al’s retreating form.

“I think the holidays are hard on him,” Raj said with a sigh. “There’s history there, I think, but he refused to talk about it. Just did that sit-and-glower thing of his.” 

Maria scowled. “He was rude.” At Natasha’s lifted eyebrow, Maria twitched a shoulder uncomfortably. “Damn near made Misty cry, Christmas Eve. Don’t know what he said – and she wouldn’t tell me.”

“You should have called me,” Natasha chided gently.

“We handled it,” Raj defended. “Didn’t want to ruin your vacation.”

Those who’d been unloading brought their final burdens into the house through the door to the garage. Catriona had her new quarterstaff in hand. Maria leapt up to examine it. “This is gorgeous workmanship,” she complimented, running her fingers over the brass caps. “Clint told you I’d help teach you, right?”

Catriona nodded, a smile flickering at the corners of her lips. “I appreciate your willingness, laoch scail – and I wonder if perhaps you would help me plan a surprise for a fellow Druid. There is one of our number who is most proficient with weapons – Cormac,” she offered over her shoulder to the triad, “and he has long desired to see me learn defense… it should be quite enjoyable to surprise him with sudden ability.”

Maria laughed – the unencumber laugh that only her clan heard. “Happy to help.”

“I’m going to run up and change into pajamas,” Natasha told her husbands.

“A fine idea,” Phil agreed. “I believe I’ll join you.”

“Should I put really loud music on and pretend we can’t hear anything?” Misty asked with an impertinent grin.

Clint flicked her ear as he walked by. “We won’t be long.”

“That’s not an answer!” she called after him, laughing.

Natasha rolled her eyes and offered Catriona her hand. “We’re taking the pixie, does that make it less suspect?” The mischievous light in Misty’s eyes was back, and she had opened her mouth to retort when Maria elbowed her. Misty desisted, but her eyes were still dancing.

“They are very excitable,” Catriona remarked as she took the pajamas Natasha handed her – and vaguely wondered when Natasha had accumulated so many clothes in her size.

“Misty’s hiding something,” Phil called from the bathroom. When Catriona was in their bedroom, he and Clint changed in the bathroom – no need to make anyone uncomfortable. “She’s overcompensating.”

“Maybe Al really did hurt her feelings,” Clint surmised, tugging his t-shirt into place over flannel lounge pants. “Maybe it’s still over her mom.”

Phil settled his own t-shirt before tugging Clint closer. “Maybe.” He bent to nuzzle Clint’s neck.

“They’re not the only ones excitable,” Clint teased, but didn’t push Phil away. He waited for Natasha’s mental all-clear before stepping out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom. “Awww.” He couldn’t help it – Catriona was wearing a set of pink flannel pajamas with teddy bears on them. “Damn, you looked adorable, sis.”

She flushed. “They are silly.”

“They are adorable,” Phil repeated, winking at his husband, and kissed her cheek.

Natasha grinned at them. She was wearing another set of Captain America pajamas, these in thick cotton. His shield and the Howling Commandos badge were printed on the pants, and the top read ‘Star Spangled Man.’ Phil chuckled and pulled her close for a kiss as well. “You may be star spangled, but you’re no man,” he murmured in her ear.

“Let’s get back downstairs before Misty decides to come eavesdrop,” Clint suggested, taking Catriona’s hand.

“What do you want to do for the day, love?” Phil asked as they rejoined their clan.

“A movie?” Maria suggested.

Natasha groaned. “No more movies, not for a while.” At Chuck’s raised eyebrow, she added, “We watched a bunch in Wisconsin.”

“Not much else to do there,” Lance grinned. “We did too, didn’t we Ang?”

“I feel robbed, though,” Angie griped without feeling. She’d changed into her pajamas in the downstairs bathroom. “We didn’t get cuddle piles.”

Phil chuckled, seating himself on the couch behind the mattresses. “The blame for those lies thoroughly on my nieces.”

“So, if not a movie…” Misty prompted, looking at Natasha. “Is there something we can do that’ll make you feel like you’re taking care of us?”

A few puzzled looks prompted Catriona to explain. “We believe it is not merely the physical contact which deirfiur requires, but an element of caregiving – that her need of you is tied to her role as matriarch.”

“You could cook,” Sam suggested with a shrug. “My mom takes care of people by feeding them.”

“So does mine,” Lance agreed. “I think Phil’s does, too, right?” Phil nodded. “So… food?”

“As if any of you want my cooking when Phil’s home,” Natasha drawled. “No, I don’t think that’s what I need.” She pondered a moment before a smile broke across her face. “I’ve got an idea.” She dashed back upstairs and returned with a hard-back book, seating herself on the couch next to Phil. Clint joined them, and the rest of the clan made themselves comfortable on the mattresses. “If this isn’t your cup of tea, I won’t be offended if any of you want to read instead,” Natasha said, almost shyly, as she opened the book. “But I thought it might be nice.”

When there were no objections, she cleared her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

~ * ~


	46. Chapter 46

Several hours – and chapters – passed before anyone stirred. Natasha reached for her teacup between paragraphs and discovered it empty, and the carafe beside it as well.

“Refill break,” she announced, slipping a piece of paper in between the pages and closing the book.

“I’ll make more tea,” Misty volunteered, grabbing Natasha’s carafe and heading to the kitchen.

Maria stood as well. “I’m on beer – who wants?” She counted the raised hands and followed Misty. “Bunny, do you want – ”

The door closed on her question, and Phil turned raised eyebrows to Chuck. “Bunny?” he repeated, very quietly.

Chuck shrugged. “I’ve got no idea. But I sure as hell ain’t gonna ask.”

“It’s even cuter when Misty calls her ‘ducks,’” CJ said with a laugh. “I don’t think either of them know they’re doing it, and it’s freaking adorable. You know, Maria gave Misty PJs for Christmas with bunnies all over them, and Christmas Eve they sat on the couch together in printed PJs – one in bunnies, one in duckies, and acted like it was perfectly normal.”

“It is,” Natasha said with a small smile. “For Misty. Not so much for Maria, but it’s nice to see her relaxing.”

“But seriously, don’t mention it,” Chuck cautioned, this time with more force. “Whatever’s going on, I’m not gonna rock the boat.”

“Duly noted.” Phil trailed a hand down Natasha’s arm absently. “How was Christmas for the rest of you?”

Sam shuddered. “Next year, can I be mysteriously working over the entire holiday?”

“They mean well,” CJ countered from his spot in an armchair. Despite frequent invitations, he’d stayed in the chair rather than joining his clanmates on the floor. “Although I’ll admit, I was tired of being referred to as ‘Samantha’s gentleman guest.’”

“Sorry.” Sam offered him a wan smile. “I did try to warn you.”

“Hey, if I’d watch your back against a squadron of militia fighters, I’ll watch it against your family,” he deflected with a smile, and nudged her with his toes. She leaned into his foot until he pulled it back into the chair.

Phil was only half-listening – he’d been watching CJ’s body language. Even here – surrounded by clanmates – he wasn’t fully relaxed. He’d hugged Natasha, but that little toe touch was the only other physical contact he’d offered since they’d sat down. It made his heart hurt.

Clint elbowed him gently. “Tonight or tomorrow,” he said, with a quick flick of the eyes towards CJ.

“Yes, lovebird,” Phil agreed softly. “I don’t know that I can put it off any longer.”

Misty returned with brewed tea, Maria trailing behind her distributing beer to those who’d requested it. “At some point, we need to think about food,” Misty informed Phil as she refilled his teacup. “And some of us have to work tomorrow.”

“How’d you get out of it today?” Clint asked, taking a beer from Maria. “You were on the schedule, weren’t you?”

Chuck laughed. “We were. Well, some of us were. I came down with laryngitis.”

“And I’ve got a terrible stomach flu,” Misty agreed cheerfully.

Raj threw a pillow at their squad leader. “And because she’s so kind and sharing, she gave it to me as well. I’m dreadfully ill. Can’t you tell?”

Natasha blinked. “Did you all call in sick?”

Al shook his head. “I wasn’t on today.”

“I called in, but didn’t bother with an excuse,” Maria told her with a small smile. “Fury didn’t seem shocked.”

Misty tilted her head at Natasha. “You seem surprised, nascha.” When Natasha nodded, Misty smiled – one of the sweet, youthful ones they only ever saw at home. “Sensei called for a Care Bear stare. Of course we’re here.”

“You’d do the same for us,” Maria reminded Natasha, with a quick squeeze to her shoulder.

Natasha didn’t speak her immediate thought – that she didn’t deserve them. Clint heard it and shot her a look. {Is it easier to think that maybe they deserve you?} he asked silently.

It wasn’t.

Angie abandoned her spot on the mattresses to clamber up onto the couch next to Natasha. “Now’s when it would be wicked handy to have that niece of yours around,” she grumbled, as she wrapped her arms around Natasha’s waist. It was a bit like being cuddled by an octopus.

“Which one?” Maria asked curiously. “One of the flower girls?”

“Lily,” Angie supplied. “She’s…” At a sharp intake of breath from Natasha, Angie squeezed her tighter and changed what she was going to say. “She’s got the Chief’s people-reading abilities, and a heart as big as the great outdoors.”

“And she’s a damned good hugger,” Clint agreed. “Too bad your sister would notice if we stole the girls,” he said to Phil.

Catriona flinched. “I think now would not be the best time to mention such a notion, dhearthair.”

“I was joking, sis.” Clint reached for her hand, causing Sam to have to lean out of the way. “Sarah will come around.”

Maria looked between them, then at Phil’s expression. “Problems?”

Phil sighed. “Nothing that time won’t cure, hopefully. It isn’t something we can share at the moment, Ria – I hope you understand.”

From the look on Maria’s face, it was obvious she didn’t, and she opened her mouth to reply. She was halted by a hand on her knee. Misty squeezed gently. “Not his secret to tell, I’d bet,” she murmured to Maria. “And you know how carefully Sensei guards secrets, ducks.”

Clint mouthed the nickname in shock, though Maria couldn’t see him. Chuck flashed him the hand-sign for silence, and he nodded.

“I know.” Maria covered the hand on her knee briefly – just barely a touch, but more than Phil had expected. “If they need help – well, you let us know, Phil.”

“Will do,” he answered easily. “What does everyone want for dinner?” He glanced at the clock on the mantle. “I should start putting something together.”

“There is nothing you cook that I would turn down,” Chuck said firmly. “So pick what you feel like cooking – or that is easier with a lot of willing hands, ‘cause I’m game for KP.”

Phil regarded him thoughtfully. “Alright.” He pondered the contents of the fridge – when he’d peeked in it earlier, it was obvious that the clan had stocked it in anticipation of his cooking. “Cheesy scalloped potatoes and ham sound good?” There was a general murmur of agreement – and at least one smacking of lips. “Chuck, you’re on potatoes – there’s a bag in the cabinet beneath the liquor.”

“I’ll cut up the ham,” CJ volunteered, and headed for the fridge. “I knew there was a reason I bought ham.”

“You are a ham,” Misty called to him as he left the living room, and he flashed her a rude sign from the doorway.

~ * ~

Somehow it didn’t surprise Natasha that the Scoobies were unwilling to go home.

Oh, not all of them – though the ones that stayed rather puzzled her. She’d expected Misty, and so wasn’t terribly shocked when Maria announced she’d be staying too. CJ, though – when he’d asked quietly if anyone minded if he stayed on the couch, she wanted to hug him. She restrained herself – he didn’t welcome their physical affection often – but the smile she gave him was warm.

Clint had looked over the mattresses, then gone upstairs and gotten their pillows off the king-size bed the triad shared. He didn’t comment as he laid them out on one of the camp mattresses – there was plenty of space for six adults to sleep on them, with CJ on the couch.

“Um. Cuz?” Misty asked finally, when he patted the last pillow into place. “Is this weird?”

Instead of answering immediately, or with his usual flippancy, he tugged her arm until she was close enough to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Not for us, grasshopper. I’m not cool with the idea of you guys being down here, and us upstairs – it feels wrong. This feels right.” Then he paused, meeting her eyes. “Is it not right for you?”

She squirmed, which caused her to bump into Maria. “I don’t want to infringe on… you know… quality time?” she squeaked.

CJ threw a pillow at her. “Damn it, Buffy, not everything is about sex.” He caught Phil’s questioning gaze, and sighed. “Look, I get that they’re probably the only people in this room who can claim to actually have a sex life,” and damn, Phil thought, it hurt to consider that, “but they’re adults, Buff. If they’d rather bunk with their family, that’s their choice.”

“I have to live vicariously through somebody!” Misty protested, but she’d relaxed. “Not that Natasha talks about it,” she added immediately. “She wouldn’t spill – fuck, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Maria chuckled. “It’s okay, bunny. CJ’s right. You really think they’d sleep down here with us if it bugged them?”

Natasha answered that question by settling into the middle of the mattresses. She gestured Misty and Maria to one side with a look – and didn’t linger on the fact that she knew they were going to sleep next to each other – and her husbands on the other. Catriona, after a moment’s hesitation, shyly asked if she could lay between Phil and Clint. She was answered by hands reaching up to her, and soon they were all settled into the mattress, making soft contented noises.

“CJ, if you change your mind…” Natasha murmured.

“I know.” He leaned over the edge of the couch to rest his hand on her shoulder briefly. “This is good.” He yawned.

“I set an alarm,” Misty murmured to Maria as her eyelids got heavy. “Since we actually have to go in tomorrow.”

Phil fought sleep long enough to say, “Wake me up, and I’ll make French toast.”

~ * ~


	47. Chapter 47

As promised, Phil rose and cooked breakfast when Misty’s alarm went off. She and Maria left – both dressed in clean uniforms they’d had the foresight to bring – and CJ hung around long enough to help put away the camp mattresses before leaving for his apartment.

“Would you mind if I swung by this afternoon?” Phil asked CJ, before he could leave.

CJ raised his eyebrows. “Sure. You have the address?” Phil nodded. “I’ll be home all day, so whenever’s good.” He didn’t question Phil – if his handler didn’t want to discuss it here, no amount of pressuring him would get him to talk. Instead, he waved a cheery hand at Natasha, Clint, and Catriona before trotting down the steps to his car.

“And on that note,” Catriona sighed. “I should return to my Vale.”

“This isn’t about what Misty said last night, is it?” Natasha asked, wrapping the druid in a hug. “Because you’re not intruding.”

“I know that, deirfiur,” Catriona assured her. “But there are tasks to be done – I should return to my duties.” She stretched up on her toes to kiss Natasha’s cheek. 

Phil and Clint each got a hug and a kiss as well, and with half an hour, the triad was alone in the house.

Clint looked around. “It seem really empty in here?”

Natasha chuckled and slid her arms around him. “Yes, but it won’t stay that way. They invited themselves for dinner, remember? And Angie had that sparkle in her eye that makes me think they’re planning something.”

“They always are,” Phil agreed. “But I’ve got to survive a conversation with CJ first.” He rubbed his forehead, sighing.

“No headaches,” Clint said sternly, as though his declaration would prevent them entirely. “Everything will go fine with CJ.”

Phil sighed again. “I hope so.”

“Since the kids were so good as to give us the house to ourselves…” Natasha glanced upstairs meaningfully.

“You are incorrigible,” Phil told her, leaning forward to kiss her. “But I wouldn’t say no to a little stress relief, before I have to face CJ.”

Clint slid his hand around Phil’s waist, toying with the waistband of his pajamas. “Are we relegated to stress relief then, Moonbeam?” He quirked an eyebrow to make sure Phil knew he was teasing.

“Most effective I’ve ever encountered,” Phil agreed. 

~ * ~

Phil knocked on the door to CJ’s apartment later that afternoon, feeling more tension as he did so than if he were facing an armed terrorist cell. Goddess, he hoped this went right. After everything CJ had been through, it would damn near kill Phil to hurt him.

CJ opened the door and gestured him in. “You look like hell, chief.”

Phil tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Thanks.”

The sharpshooter grinned. “Any time. You want a soda?”

“I don’t suppose you have something stronger?”

“I’m underage, remember?”

Phil rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. I suppose that’s as good a starting place as any.”

CJ let him in, leading him to a sparsely furnished living room. “This is about my age?” For the first time, he looked apprehensive.

Sinking down into an armchair, Phil closed his eyes for a moment to summon calm. “It’s about the age on your records, and your actual age.” CJ sucked in a breath. “Let me start with – you aren’t in any trouble, and it isn’t public knowledge.”

“Thank fuck for that,” CJ murmured.

“I…” Phil trailed off, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I don’t know how much Doug and Louise told you.”

CJ’s eyebrows leapt almost to his hairline. “I didn’t know you knew them.” When Phil didn’t respond, he shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like they couldn’t tell me that I was basically going from fifteen to eighteen overnight. They told me somebody high up in the organization wanted me to be legally an agent before Doug died – you know he had cancer, right?” Phil nodded. “And apparently there was a position just perfect for me – turned out to be on your squad – and they didn’t want me to miss out.” His mouth quirked in a half smile. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

Phil took a deep breath and blew it out. Just like removing a band-aid, right? “That high ranking official was me.”

“No shit?”

Phil sighed, rubbing his forehead. “No shit.”

“Why?”

That was the real sticking point, wasn’t it? How was he going to explain to CJ that he’d taken a proprietary interest since he’d first tugged the boy out from under Marconi’s dead body? “I needed to know you were safe,” he said finally.

CJ’s eyes narrowed. “How many laws did you break to do it?”

“A lot,” Phil admitted with a small laugh. “And I’d do it again.”

The young man – Phil thought of him as a man rather than a boy, despite his youth – sat back in his chair and locked eyes with Phil. “Louise always said I had a guardian angel. How long…?”

“Since I met you. Hell, I’d have taken you for prerecruitment myself, if Fury would have approved it.” He dropped his eyes. “Martin and Shaeffer were the best I could do.”

“And how many other lost waifs do you have waiting in the wings?” CJ asked softly.

Phil’s eyes returned to his immediately, shocked. “None! Christ, CJ. You were the only one.”

CJ’s lips twitched. “Aren’t you supposed to curse at the Goddess, not Jesus?”

Relief flooded Phil. “You aren’t mad.” Phil lifted a shaking hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hey.” CJ abandoned his chair and crouched in front of Phil. “Chief. Sensei.” He wasn’t sure what to call Phil – especially not when he looked a hair from crying. “Boss, it’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m fucking grateful it was you, actually, because I’ve been afraid it was Fury, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to owe him for my life.” As he’d hoped, that got him a small chuckle from the older agent. “That’s what it is, you know… I owe you for my life.” He sat back on his heels, looking up at Phil. It wasn’t often he voluntarily put himself in such a submissive position, but he trusted Phil, and he kind of thought Phil needed to know that right now. “Getting me out of the League… that’s one thing. But you could have walked away, boss. No one would have thought anything of it.”

“I would have.”

CJ reached up and grabbed the hand that wasn’t covering Phil’s face. “Yeah, well. That’s because you’re you. Look, I don’t know how many people would have pulled strings to get me in prerecruitment – and I sure as shit can’t think of anyone else who cared about my welfare enough to break laws to get me into a squad before I could get assigned to a different prerecruitment pair. Jesus, Phil.” He shook his head, looking up in awe. “I didn’t even think you broke the speed limit, and you committed forgery – or perjury – or both – to keep me safe.”

“I speed,” Phil protested weakly. “Have you seen Lola? Keeping to the speed limit would be soul crushing.”

“Goddess.” CJ leaned forward, resting his head on Phil’s knee. The hand that had been on Phil’s face dropped to the back of CJ’s head. With anyone else, it would have triggered a panic attack. With Phil, CJ felt… safe. “I’m glad it was you, boss. I’m glad I don’t owe anyone else, sure… but I’m also glad because you needed to save someone, and I could be that for you.” 

Phil blinked at him. “How…”

“Lance told us about Agent Price.”

He had to struggle not to pull away, but the hand on CJ’s head tightened. “I see.”

CJ looked up, searching for Phil’s eyes. The older man was looking off to the side, though his gaze didn’t seem to be on anything in the room. “You needed to save someone,” CJ repeated, but quietly. “You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t go back in time and save Clint… but you could save me.”

“Yes.” Phil swallowed. “Selfish of me, I suppose.”

“Like hell.” CJ squeezed the hand he held. “You have no idea what it meant to me, Phil – none at all – to know that there was someone out there who was looking out for me. Even when I thought it was so I could be a better SHIELD agent – don’t look so bereft, please.”

Phil stroked CJ’s blond hair automatically before stilling his hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be touching… I don’t want to trigger…”

“You won’t,” he was assured. “Where’s your famed Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge bravado now?” CJ teased gently.

“I’m not Agent Coulson right now,” Phil admitted. “I’m not even Taoiseach Phil. Maybe not even Treorai Phil.”

“Plain old regular tired Phil?” CJ suggested, his voice soft.

“Yeah.” Phil’s hand resumed stroking CJ’s hair. “I’ve been worrying, thinking about this conversation, for a while now. I thought… I thought you’d think I was trying to control you, run your life. Take away your independence.”

CJ squeezed his hand again. “You’ve done everything you could to give me my independence – and then damned if you didn’t give me a family too.” 

“That part was accidental.” Phil chuckled. “I meant to give you stability, with the squad – I had no idea it would turn into this.”

“I’ll take an act of Goddess,” CJ said quietly, but quirked a smile up at Phil.

~ * ~


	48. Chapter 48

The clan reassembled for dinner at six o’clock – including Catriona, which surprised the triad. She quirked her lips. “I may have slightly exaggerated my destination,” she confided in an overly loud whisper as she poured tea. She had in fact spent the day with bleachtaire – putting the finishing touches on tonight’s surprise.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. All of the Scoobies were looking… anticipatory. One could even call it gleeful. “What are you up to?” she asked warily.

“Naught that is ill, deirfiur,” Catriona assured her with a winsome smile.

That covered a lot of ground, Natasha knew, but there was nothing for it – she’d have to wait and see.

Phil served them stew and fresh rolls, having had time to properly simmer the stew over the afternoon. He’d put it on before he’d gone to see CJ, wanting the bulk of the dinner preparations to be out of the way, in case the conversation lasted hours. Or, in a worst-case scenario, if he had been too distraught to cook afterwards. The positive outcome of that conversation meant he’d been able to add pie to tonight’s menu – raspberry, at his wife’s request. 

Lance kept looking between CJ and Phil, brow furrowed. He didn’t know what was different – just that something was. If he hadn’t known that Phil was married – and that CJ, by all indications, didn’t date – he’d think they’d hooked up. It was that same… intimacy. But it couldn’t be that – Phil would never betray Natasha or Clint… would he? Regardless, Lance vowed to keep an eye on their youngest squad member. 

They made it through dinner and dessert before Phil couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Alright, what have you cooked up?” he demanded – his eyes squarely on Misty.

She grinned. “Why sensei, you wouldn’t be thinking it’s all my fault, would you?” At his pointed look, she chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Ang, you got it?”

Angie did, apparently – and ‘it’ was revealed to be a wrapped gift. The shape made Phil think it was artwork of some kind. Angie laid it on the table in front of him. “We’re hoping you’ll put it in your office,” Misty said, almost shyly.

Phil removed the paper and tilted the frame towards him – then sat, gobsmacked.

It was a simple black frame, twenty by twenty-four inches – deliberately plain. Safe behind glass was indeed a piece of artwork, but not what he expected.

It was childish – intentionally juvenile, he realized after a moment. Scrawled in paint near the top of the image was “Our Family Garden” in a cheerful yellow that Phil thought might match Maria’s ducky pajamas. Beneath it was a series of flowers – each with a thumbprint as the center, and initials added just below it. “CD, DD, CT, LB,” he read, curious. There were thirteen flowers total, though three of them had hearts instead of thumbprints in the center – three taller flowers, he realized, labeled with TP, BB, and MN. “What…?”

Misty leaned over and touched her fingers to a soft blue flower that had “LB” below it. “Laoch beag,” she murmured. 

As each of the Scoobies – and Maria, and Catriona – touched a flower and repeated their Gaelic name, Phil realized what this was.

He had a dozen nieces and nephews.

He had a dozen clanmates.

He could put this on the wall in his office, in plain view of Fury, the Goddess, and everyone in between – and no one but the clan would know what it was.

“Natasha’s not the only one who needs us, Sensei,” Misty said quietly. “And the feeling’s mutual.”

Phil had to swallow twice before he could speak. “This is…” He searched for a word that didn’t feel inadequate. “Inspired.”

“It’s selfish, too,” CJ assured him, with a quirk of his lips. “I’m thoroughly enjoying thinking of other agents trying to reconcile their preconceived notions of Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge with a framed finger-paint work of art.”

~ * ~

Nick Fury stalked the empty halls of SHIELD headquarters like a giant bat, leather trench coat fluttering in his wake. He knew it unnerved the agents working the night shift when he took his walkabouts – hell, that was half the fun. 

This first week after the new year was particularly enjoyable. Almost every workspace he peered around had something new. Sometimes it was family snapshots – other times it was new gadgets, luxury pens, desktop toys – the lifeblood of the deskbound agent.

He turned into the hall that held senior agent offices. It was rare for anything personal to materialize on Agent Hill’s desk, but it was worth a look.

He’d been so sure there would be nothing of interest that he nearly missed it. Sitting beside her computer monitor was a rubber duck. Bright yellow, with – was that a pair of bunny ears?

Fury’s surprise cracked his facade and he stared. Who the hell would give Hill a rubber duck? And better question – why did she put it on her damned desk? 

That mystery was still nagging at him when he turned into Coulson’s office. This was always interesting – particularly in the last year or two. He spied a new tea cozy – at least, that’s what he thought the yarn-made thing covering the teapot was called. (And when had Coulson started keeping not just an electric kettle, but a ceramic teapot in his office?)

He saw a new picture frame on the shelf above the teapot – a woman, being cut off in mid-tirade. The woman herself was in focus, but whoever’d silenced her was not. Why the hell would Coulson have a photo of pissed-off broad?

Turning to go, he froze at the new artwork hanging on the wall next to the door. A children’s painting, by the looks of it, but professionally framed. Some blather about family was across the top, and there were thirteen badly drawn (but colorful) flowers below. Using thumbprints for centers was clever – not that Fury ever considered children’s art clever.

But why the fuck would he hang it in his office? Where everybody exiting his office had to see it? Where it was visible from his desk or the couch?

Fury stood in front of that framed drawing for a lot longer than he’d admit to anyone, including himself.

~ * ~


End file.
